With Strength of Steel Wings
by AngelaStarCat
Summary: A young Harry Potter is taken in by a sophisticated street gang called the Steel Wings. He learns about his magic when he earns his first gang tattoo, and something entirely unexpected happens. Currently: A different Harry has entered his first year at Hogwarts, one with secrets he fears to tell. As he tries to find his place, an old enemy waits. (Runes, Blood Magic, Parseltongue)
1. With strength of steel wings,

**Disclaimer: No profit being made. Obviously**.

_**Author's Note: This will be the rewrite (edited, expanded) version of my earlier story. Hopefully two years have made me a somewhat better writer. I've graduated college, gotten married, started a new job, and had a baby since the last time I updated the other story. Now, I finally have some time to sit down and continue brewing this cauldron of a story. I hope everyone enjoys this even more than the first one. Thank You to my beta, A Mistake! (EDITED:7/29/13)  
**_

* * *

A man stood atop the highest tower of Hogwarts. He wore only a loose pair of black pants that rippled in the harsh wind. Below him, the reconstruction continued as various wizards began the extensive project to restore Hogwarts to its pre-war glory. He watched them numbly, seeing occasional glances up in his direction that quickly turned away when they saw his gaze.

Sometime later he heard footsteps upon the stairs, tentatively edging their way up towards him. They paused at the last stair, before a throat cleared itself. He turned, piercing green eyes meeting frightened hazel ones as the man shifted from side to side. He attempted to smile, something that came out more as a grimace, before gesturing the man towards two chairs set up on the far side of the tower. The man shuffled forward, dressed in an Muggle suit and tie, not meeting his gaze, while pulling out paper and pen and sitting. For a moment he observed the nervous man, before he felt a sigh come from his throat. The other man spoke quietly, as if afraid to speak too loud.

"Mr. Potter, Sir, if this is a bad time... only Mr. Malfoy told me to come straight up..."

Mr. Potter sat quietly, absently shaking his head negatively. His voice, when it spoke, was slightly hoarse.

"No, this is as good a time as ever. You know my reasons for this of course..."

He drifted off, waiting for the other man to speak. He did so, eyes looking around, anywhere but at the man sitting across from him.

"Yes, Sir. A autobiography, to combat the bad press..."

"Call me Harry. You will soon know more about me than all but my closest friends."

The man's eyes widened, his head shaking as he met green eyes for the first time since coming in the tower.

"Oh, no, sir, I mustn't! After all you've done for us, I could never..."

Harry cut him off with a swift hand gesture, before looking out over the countryside towards the white-capped mountains. A smile began to come to his lips as he spoke again, attempting to put the man at ease.

"Mr. Klaric, tell me, what is it people say about me?"

Klaric looked down, as if afraid to speak. When he spoke, it was tentatively, leery of riling his ire.

"Well, Mr. Potter, they say you are a hero. That you have saved us all. "

"And?"

The man shifted, his hands absently toying with a sheet of paper. When he spoke, it was slowly at first, before he gained momentum, speaking faster as if desiring to get all his words out at once.

"They say you are dangerous, that you've done... unspeakable things. They say you should be exiled, perhaps. They say we know nothing of what you are, and that you are the only one of your kind. They say you... sacrificed innocents and enemies in obscure rituals to gain power, that you tortured Death Eater into insanity, that you killed in cold blood, that you cannot be trusted. Some say... that you will be the next Dark Lord."

Harry Potter looked the man over, Klaric's face now flushed, his body braced to receive a blow. He spoke again, softly.

"Mr. Klaric, John, I chose you from hundreds of reporters and biographers, because they say you are honest, because your reputation is impeccable, and because you are not my friend. You did not fight for me; you were not here in Britain during the Blood War. That's what they are calling it now, right? Tell me, what do you see when you look at me?"

The man's eyes reluctantly turned to him, running over his naked chest. Scars rippled across its surface. Some detailed complicated patterns, waves running across flesh, while others were the telltale marks of Muggle and Magical wounds. Behind his back two wings rose regally, barred black and silver, their heavy feathers softly chiming in the wind. The man opened and closed his mouth, as if unsure how to speak.

"I... Sir...different. You look... different."

Harry leaned forward slightly, reaching out a single hand palm up. His right hand, and on its palm a single raised rune. He spoke, his tone calm.

"You described it perfectly with that one word. I am different. And people fear difference. They deserve an explanation, of sorts. They are scared, out there, some hiding behind their petty words, others hiding behind adoring praise. But all of them, _scared,_ scared of me. Scared of what they cannot understand. Scared of what I am about to do. And you, John, will help me educate them. You will tell them my story."

Hazel eyes rose, meeting his own. Determination began to steel across their surface, the chin rising, the trembling halting in tanned skin.

"Yes, Mr.…Harry."

He smiled, leaning back. He looked down at the stack of blank paper, and over at the Muggle pen grasped in the reporters hand. A smile began on his face, and he closed his eyes. He turned his mind back, across the many years and triumphs and heartbreaks, back to when it all began, when things that could've been became different. He spoke, his voice deep.

"It all began some ten years ago now, as I was living with my Aunt and Uncle Dursley, in Muggle Surrey..."

* * *

An excerpt from_**"Memorable Muggle Mornings: the Undercover Wizard."**_

_"Today, at exactly six o'clock a.m., I rose and made some tea. My lovely cat, Purniskus, purred for some milk which I graciously granted her. The Muggle life is so peaceful! No clattering pots spellbound whisking about the room, no hoity toity Wizarding owls swooping in at all times of day. I miss cleaning spells the most, but with me alone not much mess is made. If one is careful, as I am of course! You can go complete weeks without lifting a cleaning finger, and such wonderful devices these Muggles have made to clean for you! Have you ever heard of a dishwasher? Wonderful Invention! Came from America in the…"_

* * *

A young black haired boy watched silently through the slats in the cupboard door as two men came stomping heavily in holding a big cardboard box between them. Emerald eyes shone sadly, before he leaned back onto his dusty mattress made of old blankets and stained sheets. Broken toys looked down on him from two small wooden shelves, and a burnt out light bulb reflected a speck of light from the small opening in the door. He made himself sit still, for His uncle has been very specific: "Stay silent, and _no funny business!_" and then he had slammed and bolted the cupboard door. His Uncles voice had wavered with anger, a tremor that made Harry shake, knowing what would come of it.

His family, The Dursleys, consisted of his Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and their son Dudley. Aunt Petunia was his Mom's sister, though she never spoke of her and had no pictures. He just called them Uncle and Aunt and sir and ma'am and Dudley, and knew enough to stay out of their way. He wasn't normal, and his Uncle often just called him freak, because he was different from them. He was different because his parents had died when he was a baby, and they were taking him in from the kindness of their hearts, and sometimes he would wish really hard and things would happen. Things that normally warranted a good thrashing from his Uncle and shrieks from his Aunt.

Which brought his attention to the men coming back and forth outside of his door.

* * *

_**~A Week Earlier~**_

Harry quietly entered the kitchen, his steps soft. Aunt was watching her specials on the telly, and Harry knew he would get into trouble if he made any noise whatsoever. Lunch that day had been sparse in more ways than one. Not only had he gotten less to eat than his pudgy cousin, but Aunt was on another one of her healthy kicks. This time was sparred by a not-so-concerned comment from a fellow parent about her precious Dudders expanding waistline. While making Aunt angry, it had also brought attention to a growing problem: namely, Dudley's weight. Which was growing ever more since Dudley's birthday present of a new gaming console.

His bird-thin Aunt had then decided, for the betterment of the entire household (i.e. Uncle and Dudley) that the new eating regimen be implemented right away. Greens, greens, more greens, and some silly white chalky stuff called tofu. Harry shuddered with disgust. He could bear the low-fat milk and sugar supplements, but not that sometimes soggy, sometimes stiff, tofu! He knew it wouldn't last any longer than it did the last few times, but he was still hungry enough to attempt to sneak a snack. He knew it could mean trouble, but he was hungry! He had been this desperate a few times before, and hadn't yet been caught. He always made sure Uncle was at work and Aunt busy and Dudley gone. Checklist complete, he tip-toed over to the Fridge.

It was just as Harry was reaching in to grab a tub of leftovers that trouble spoke up. Literally.

"Freak! What do you think you are doing?"

It was Dudley. His cousin had squeezed into the kitchen just as silently as Harry, but spoke up in his anger at seeing his freak of a cousin trying to sneak of bite of _his_ food. No matter that Dudley had had the same plan as his cousin, but Dudley thought to himself, _'that ungrateful snit didn't deserve a whit more than he was given!'_

Harry gawked, startled, his voice stuttering and shaking as he backed away from the refrigerator. "I'm, uh, just... cleaning up. You know, tidying the fridge. Throwing out the old stuff."

Harry groaned mentally._ If that wasn't the lamest excuse ever._ He quickly tried to slide past the large Dudley and back to the refuge of his cupboard when Dudley lashed out and grabbed him much faster than he would of gave his cousin credit for. Harry squeaked, bracing himself for a bruising fist, when he felt his foot catch underneath the kitchen table. He frantically tried to push away, but Dudley began to pull him closer, and down he went, his hand outstretched to catch him. The angle was all wrong, and his wrist bent with a toe curling sensation of pain, and Harry let out a surprised and painful yell. Then his knees both hit the ground, Dudley falling on top of him, and the pain was like stars behind his eyes, red and yellow and orange, and a panic built up like a pressure in his chest, before popping with an audible shattering noise. His ears began to ring, and Dudley was suddenly scrambling off him, yelling himself, pushing Harry painfully back onto his hurt wrist.

"What's going on in here? _Dudley!"_

Aunt Petunia let out a scream. Harry sat up and realized the ringing noise he was hearing was actually the smoke detector, blaring from the kitchen ceiling. He looked around blearily, seeing his horrified Aunt hurrying over to a shaken Dudley, huddled in a corner, wide eyes locked on the appliances that were currently belching smoke.

* * *

Every appliance in the kitchen had been fried, even the microwave and the electric toaster. Uncle had been furious, his pudgy face red and his eyes bulging. He had been expecting to purchase a new car soon, and fixing the damage was going to set him back by at least a year. His Uncle hadn't even touched him since the accident, not even the littlest spanking, and he had no idea what was going to happen. Uncle wasn't known to not punish any little offense, not to mention one that had done so much damage. Harry had at least expected a beating and to be locked in his cupboard. This calm rage his Uncle was displaying currently was foreign to Harry.

Dudley had also been avoiding him, no longer pushing him around or speaking sharp insults. He had avoided him in the hallway, and didn't meet his eyes at the dinner table. He had even flinched when Harry accidentally bumped into him while serving breakfast, which caused Uncle to pale and his hands to shake. Harry had cringed, expecting retaliation, only to slowly relax as none came. He was confused, this behavior new to him. He began to feel on edge, startling easily, creeping more silently than ever about the house as he cleaned. _What was going on?_

* * *

The men from the electronics store left the house with a cheerful farewell several hours later, and his Uncle came over and unlatched his cupboard door and dragged him out by the arm.

"Go clean the Kitchen, and be quick about it!"

His Uncle snarled venomously at him before stomping into the living room.

Harry trudged over to the kitchen, looking over the dust and boxes and slowly began cleaning, favoring his sore left wrist. The cabinets were fixed from the smoke damage, and a nice new stove and dishwasher were gleaming in their spots. He moved the boxes they had come in over to the side while he swept the floor and counters, then carefully peeked out into the living room at his Uncle.

"Sir, I'm finished."

Harry spoke carefully. His Uncle looked up, then an odd smile spread across his face. He stomped into the kitchen, looked around, and grabbed the box the dishwasher had come in and put it by the back door.

"Well, freak, I bet you've been wondering why you haven't been punished yet for the little stunt you pulled the other day. Your Aunt and I have had a long talk, and we've had enough of you and your freakiness! We've found a women in the country who wants someone to clean her house for her, and help look after her animals. She's going to pay us a nice monthly stipend for the labor. You can stay there until you are old enough to leave. We will tell people that another wealthier relative of ours has come forward to take over your care. You will not tell anyone otherwise, do you understand me?"

Harry shrank down from his Uncle, the warning in his voice unmistakable. He began to nod his head while his thoughts swam in turmoil. A small part of him rejoiced at escaping the clutches of his Uncle, but the larger part was afraid of leaving the only life he had ever known. His uncle seemed satisfied with his meek response, his flushed face returning to its normal color. The large man straightened, tightening his hand around a set of keys in his fist. He spoke again, gesturing towards the large stove box Harry had drug over by the door.

"It's better for everyone if no one see's you leave. We best make it quick, the lady wants you as soon as possible. Get in that box over there, hurry up!"

"But, sir, my stuff..."

Harry began to argue, before drifting off as his Uncle's face began to flush in anger again, the color rising up under his buttoned collar. He looked down at the floor, shuffling over towards the box. Uncle Vernon spoke behind him as he hesitated.

"The woman will supply anything you need!"

His Uncle gestured roughly to the box again, a tight, eager expression coming over his face.

Harry hesitated only a second more, sparing a brief thought for the few possessions he had collected in his cupboard. Broken toys, select pieces of junk that were ignored by Dudley and his relatives. Nothing Harry could really value, but it was all he had.

_"Hurry up boy, _before I whip you first!"

Uncle Vernon snapped out the last bit and kicked his foot towards Harry, who quickly scampered into the large cardboard box. His breath sounded loud in the enclosed area, and he felt the world close in on him. It was like his cupboard, but not, a tight suffocating feeling coming over him. His breath sped up as he heard his Uncle taping up the top of the box, and he lay on the floor, curling up in a tight ball. He clasped his hands together, his palms sweaty, and screwed his eyes shut. Somehow, not being able to see the darkness made it more bearable.

He felt the box being lifted onto a hand cart his Uncle had retrieved from the garage. The sudden movement sent him sprawling back towards the back of the box, and he heard his Uncle grunt at the shift in weight. He tried to hold himself still as the movement continued, focusing his thoughts on where he might be going. Maybe this new woman would be nice, and have cookies like Mrs. Figg across the street. He might even get a room of his own! The chores couldn't be much worse than the ones he did already, and he had always loved animals.

He felt himself begin to calm as he built a picture in his mind. Everything was going to be fine. The box came to a sudden halt, and Harry felt his stomach drop as a voice sounded outside.

"Hi Mr. Dursley! You get a new dishwasher? I heard that new model over at Blake's was very nice. You need any help?"

The voice came from the right, where their neighbor at Number Five lived. He waited, breath harsh, as his Uncle nervously replied.

"Hmh, _umph,_ well, a little help getting this into the boot would be nice, it's heavier than I expected! Put some old beaten-in pots in here to carry them over to the dump." His Uncle's voice wavered, and Harry could hear him rub his palms against his trousers. He heard footsteps coming closer, and tried to brace himself against the sides of the stiff cardboard.

He was suddenly elevated and felt himself fall over again as he was pushed forward roughly into the back of the car. He managed to withhold a yelp of surprise and sudden pain, as pressure was put on his still tender wrist. Then there was a sudden slam and the grey light his eyes were just beginning to get used to turned completely black. He almost yelled in fright, but pressed his face against his hands instead. He hoped he would be getting out of here soon. The air was hot and stuffy, making the space seem even smaller.

He heard some muffled voices, and then the car engine started, a low hum that vibrated under his body as he lay once more curled on his side. It suddenly jerked backwards, and he began to count in his mind. _One, Two, Three, Four._... trying to focus on anything except his situation, cramped and alone. Never once did he think his Uncle was lying, or consider the legality and oddity of simply giving a child away.

* * *

When the car suddenly braked and came to a halt, Harry had been drifting off to sleep. He heard the trunk open, and dim light once more filtered through to his eyes. He felt his heart jump in excitement, and he felt the box being lifted out of the trunk.

He was in no way prepared for a sudden drop and the pain of hitting hard pavement. The box tumbled, he rolling inside it, and this time he did let out a yell as stars burst behind his eyes. He was now upside down in the taped box, and he tapped on the side, questioning.

"Uncle Vernon?"

He dizzily listened to another slam, the trunk being closed, but instead of an answer or the box being opened he instead heard tires squeal, the car leaving quickly. He beat on the side of the box, his soft calls soon turning into frenzied yells.

"Uncle Vernon! _Come back!_ Come back!_ I'm sorry! _I'll never do it again!_ Uncle Vernon! _Come _back!"_

He scratched and pulled at the cardboard and beat at the top, but it was completely sealed shut. He pushed upwards, straining, and felt a slight give. He pushed harder, encouraged, his mind racing.

Where was he? What happened? He heard vague honking noises, like cars on a street. That had to mean there where people nearby. He kept up his yelling, his voice turning hoarse. He continued to pry at the cardboard with his fingers, and was only softly whispering his pleas to be let out when he heard sounds outside.

"Hey, look, some new boxes!"

His heart began to race again, and he frantically shook the box back and forth, trying to attract attention.

"Really?"

"Hey, stop it!"

"Guys come back, we don't gotta go scruffing through boxes anymore!"

"But we might get something good, and something extra can't hurt!"

The last voice was very close, and in excitement Harry rammed the side of the box and beat the sides, his voice low and muffled. The voices sounded young, but surely they could help get him out!

"There something in here!"

"Yeah I heard it!"

_"Open it!"_

"Maybe it's a dog!"

_"Hurry Up!"_

"Can't we keep it? If it's a dog? _Please?"_

Tearing sounds came from the top of the box, and sudden light blinded Harry who quickly ducked down and covered his head. His eyes burned from the onslaught, but his lungs gratefully sucked in the fresh air. Excited voices rang from above, seeming to come from every direction.

"Woah!"

"Let me see!"

_"It's a kid!"_

"A Baby?"

"No, He's little though…."

He wanted to protest that statement, but it only came out as a croak. The sound seemed to silence the voices for a second, before a timid voice slowly whispered.

_"Wow…"_

"What should we do?"

"Get out of the way, let me see!"

An older voice. Harry slowly cracked open his eyes, and squinted up at several dark blobs as they took shape, now peering at him over his head. He cleared his throat, before trying to speak again.

"Um, Hi."

He paused, uncertain, before asking quietly, his throat painfully dry.

"Where... where am I?"

* * *

An excerpt from _"__**Memorable Muggle Mornings: the Undercover Wizard.**_"

_"It was as I was taking my customary walk about town that I first came across a small stray cat. It was quite pathetic looking, with not a hint of Kneazle anywhere about it. Stunted looking with a crooked tail and dusty grey fur matted all over it, I couldn't help but be revolted and charmed at the same time by its rustic and muggleish appearance. Not a thing magical about it, not even a twinkle in its eye. Of course I had wondered how Muggles take care or nonmagical pets, and decided to immediately take it home and start putting it to rights again. However, I would never have expected the trouble one small pathetic looking stray could get into."_

* * *

It was a confused and lost Harry who looked around him when he was helped out of the large box. There were buildings taller than houses to either side of him, and trash was littered all over the ground. Not a patch of grass or suburban houses in sight. The smell was strong, and found himself having to resist the urge to cover his nose. He'd never seen the likes of it this town... no, city! This was London? Seemed to be a very dirty place. He felt a shudder wrack through him as he looked down at the box he had been cramped inside, stacked next to several large black trash bags and an ever larger pile of heaped aluminum trashcans.

"You okay?"

This came from a sandy haired boy with a kind face and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks. He was the one who had told him he was in downtown London, in a back alley that usually was only frequented by homeless people, looking for food or valuables that might be in the trash that was sometimes dumped in the vicinity. The boy seemed to be the leader of the group that had found him. All the others hovered around the freckled boy and looked to him for cues on how to respond to finding a small boy trapped inside a taped up box.

"I'm alright. Does a lady live near here? I'm supposed to be going to help a lady. With her animals and stuff." Harry said, hope fluttering his his stomach. Perhaps this was just a mistake, a lousy joke played on him by his Uncle.

"What, and you're supposed to be delivered in a appliance box?"

The comment practically dripped in sarcasm and came from a mean faced boy who looked older than the all the others. He was tall and had short dark hair cropped almost military style. He stood with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed in Harry's direction. It was hate at first sight.

Sandy hair only rolled his eyes at the attitude. "Stop that, Mike. Do you know her name?"

He turned back to him and asked. Harry began to shake his head and speak, but the boy named Mike interrupted again.

"You're so stupid, you don't actually believe you were going to some woman did you? You were probably dumped here like most other people, probably for being so stupid…"

"Mike! I said stop it." Sandy Hair growled. Then, he turned to Harry with pity in his eyes.

"My name is Kerr, I'm seventeen. That bully over there is Mike, he's sixteen."

Kerr glared at the scowling boy then turned and pointed at a small boy who looked about ten years old and had yellowish blond hair. The boy smiled brightly at Harry and waved a little.

"That is Tiny, he's the youngest of our gang at only eleven years old."

He then turned and pointed at the last boy who had his hands in his pockets and was looking at the ground. He would not look up and meet Harry's eyes, and shifted uneasily back and forth, as if urgent to move on.

"And that over there is Rick, he doesn't talk a lot. We think he's fifteen or sixteen but he doesn't really know. What is your name?"

Before Harry could answer he quickly asked again.

"And how old are you?"

Harry answered softly, feeling outnumbered by the boys and very intimidated by their appearance and especially Mikes attitude. What did he hold against him, anyway?

"I turned eight last month."

Harry felt like crawling back into the box as the other winced.

"And your name, baby?" Mike spit out with a sneer. The boy's eyes were narrowed on him, suspicion lit in their depths.

"Harry. " He mumbled quickly, looking away. He hated confrontation!

"What'd you call me? You little…"

"Stop it!" Kerr ordered sternly.

Kerr glared at Mike and turned a kind eye back on Harry. Tiny was looking at him in open curiosity, tinged with a bit of mirth. Rick had finally looked up to meet his eyes, before looking down quickly again.

Kerr spoke up. "He said his name was Harry."

At that Tiny sniggered and Mike just smirked and replied.

"He doesn't look harry to me. They should've named him Skinny."

Kerr glared at him again and then sighed, throwing his hands in the air. He then bent down in front of Harry.

"Look, whoever dropped you off here, we can help you find them..."

Rick shuffled uneasily. Mike grumbled under his breath.

_"Will not!"_

"…. Or you can come and stay with..."

" He is _not_ staying with us! He is too little!"

Kerr and Mike turned to the source of the comment. This came oddly enough from the silent Rick. Rick had brown hair that he had kept hidden under a baseball cap, which he had just pulled off and was twisting anxiously in his hands. Rick continued, seeing Kerr's obstinate look.

"We have enough trouble with Tiny. This kid is too little to pull his own weight, and he can't be seen much on the street 'cause he'll just get toted off by Child Services like Jenney did."

After that Rick crossed his arms and stuck his lip out stubbornly. Kerr looked at the stubborn Rick then over at Mike, before finally looking at Harry.

Kerr spoke up with a sigh.

"He's right, and you'll be better off with the 'Services anyway, and who knows you might even get a nice foster family…"

"Phsssh whatever, don't go giving him any silver lining. We all know that won't happen!" Mike quickly interjected, looking over at Tiny. Tiny frowned and looked down. Apparently the boy had learned that fact the hard way.

At that Harry spoke up quickly, "I can help!"

"And how will you do that, Skinny? You don't even know what we do!" Mike asked sarcastically.

"I can run very fast! And climb trees and get into small places…" Kerr, who was slowly shaking his head, interrupted Harry.

"We aren't exactly thieves or anything, mugging people and all that. We just deliver messages and spy on people and sometimes we make distractions for them. In return we get food and shelter. I guess running could come in handy, but I doubt you could run any faster than Tiny there, with you being so little. Problem is, a really little kid could get into trouble we can't get them out of, or get taken by 'Services which might make them do another sweep of this area."

At that Kerr shook his head again decidedly. Rick and Mike nodded, though Tiny looked a bit disappointed. The boy would have loved another boy close to his own age.

"We will take you home, or to someplace the police will pick you up."

Kerr looked earnestly at him, but Harry didn't like the thought of returning to the Dursleys, or of going to some family called "Foster" who was just as mean and bad. He spoke up, doing his best to keep his voice from wavering, but there was still a slight tremor at the edges.

"Please? Can I at least try? And if I mess up then you can send me away, and I'll tell them that I got lost and never mention you or your friends."

Both Rick and Mike looked like they didn't like the idea at all, and Tiny just shrugged his shoulders. Kerr looked skeptical. Harry then blurted out quickly before they could start talking about turning him into the police again.

"I'll race you, and if I win you will let me stay!"

At that Mike laughed and said,

"We will, will we?_ Yeah right!"_

"Okay."

Kerr said, and immediately Mike and Rick started bickering.

"We can't!"

"Too young!"

"What are you thinking?"

Kerr frowned at the two of them before replying.

"Look, I don't think he can do it. But if by some miracle he does, then he will come in handy. And also, Mike, if I remember right you couldn't of been much older than him when we met. You turned out fine. " Kerr spoke the last with finality, before turning to Harry.

He nodded towards Rick. "You can race Rick. He's faster than Tiny and me. Mike is the fastest, so you two will follow him for as long as you can, we will see if you can keep up."

Kerr then turned and gave the Mike a hard stare, which the boy responded to by crossing his arms and smirking back.

"And Mike… don't try anything. Lead them the long way to Mr. Steel, and Tiny and me will meet you there. I expect young Harry here to not be seriously damaged."

At that Kerr smiled at Harry with some encouragement.

"You ready?"

Harry shook out his arms and froze for a second, before nodding an affirmative. Before he'd even finished Mike shot off with Rick on his tail. Harry blinked, and then ran after them.

* * *

Harry was tired. His legs felt numb and his arm was hurting fiercely. Mike had immediately rounded the corner then bolted across the street, and a cab had almost hit Harry when he followed. The driver slammed on his horn and cursed him loudly, but as much as it scared Harry, he was also determined not to fail. Things got worse from there. They'd dashed through alleys almost too small to pass through, climbed over dumpsters and at one point Mike had knocked over a bunch of plastic crates that Harry and Rick had to push through. It hadn't been easy and it felt like he'd been running for hours. Mike was nowhere in sight, and Harry was seconds behind Rick who had just turned a corner.

As Harry ran around the corner he stopped in amazement. It was a dead end! For a minute Harry just stared before he heard a banging overhead and looked up to see Mike and Rick grinning down at him before their heads disappeared over the roof. He could hear them snickering. Then he saw the small black ladder to his left and immediately ran over and began climbing. He felt almost sick with defeat. Was this even worth it? Did he want to join these, these, cruel boys? Could he even hope to catch up?

When he reached the top and raced over to the other side he saw that someone had rigged some boards at an incline between the building he was at and another roof. It was a steep slope and Harry could already see the boys ahead climbing down a ladder on the other building. He only thought for a second before he jumped onto the boards and rushed down the wobbly surface. His legs were trembling even more when he started down the other ladder, and his wrist seemed made up of pure pain. It was only when he reached the bottom that he realized he had no idea which direction the others had went.

For the first time since he had destroyed the Dursleys kitchen he felt tears run down his face. This was it, he had lost. They would just abandon him here, in the middle of London, even more lost than he had been before. Strong emotion surged up as Harry acknowledged the truth. The Dursleys had abandoned him on purpose. Planned it, even! And now, with another home almost within his grasp, acceptance waiting just out of reach, he wasn't wanted. Harry just wanted to win this race! Prove he could be more than just a freak, more than a useless waste of space. Harry wanted to belong! Harry leaned against the railing with a sob, and felt a breeze whip through his hair, when suddenly a loud popping noise caused him to whip his eyes open again.

What he saw shocked him. He was on the ground! Only a pace ahead of him Mike and Rick had their heads together laughing, and right across the street was a small store called "Steel's Custom Furniture". _Steel!_ That was the name the boys had mentioned earlier. This must be that place! Without a second thought to how he could have gotten there he snuck around the boys and took off towards the store.

* * *

_"Hey!"_ Mike shouted. He had glimpsed Harry as he darted between people crossing the street.

Rick heard his yell and turned around, eyes wide_. "That's him!"_

Mike grabbed a hold of Rick's sleeve, giving him a hard tug.

"Run!"

Harry heard the shouts behind him and ran as fast as he could, throwing himself forward with all he had. He jerked open the store door just as a hand grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him out of the way. As he fell to his knees he was greeted with the sight of Kerr and Tiny standing beside a frail stooped man with white hair. Kerr smiled triumphantly at him. Rick and Mike panted at Harry's sides, angry.

Mike glared daggers at the young boy.

"He cheated!" He exclaimed. "There is no way he could have beaten me here! It's impossible!"

The old man looked between the two of them contemplatively.

"Yes, it is quite impossible that he cheated. A lost boy left in London somehow found his way to my shop all by himself? Quite impossible. He must have followed you, and raced forward when he saw the sign. " The old man spoke chuckling to himself before motioning Harry forward.

"I am Mr. Steel, and these boys here are the steel wings that bear me in flight!"

Kerr rolled his eyes at the older mans fancy words. Harry just stared. Was this guy crazy? Just what had he gotten himself into? Kerr smiled at Harry and spoke.

"Don't mind the old man's poetry. We are his delivery boys. His "Unofficial" ones."

Rick looked even more nervous at that, but Tiny puffed out his chest in pride. Kerr grinned and gave Harry a playful shove.

"If you do as well as you did today, you might just get to wear our name as well. We call ourselves the Steel Wings. It comes from a poem of the same name."

Mike rolled his eyes, before mumbling sullenly as he looked Harry over one more time in disgust. "Which I've never bothered to read."

Rick spoke up finally, a petulant tone in his voice.

"And how is this fair? He's still little! And who is going to teach him anything?"

Mr. Steel spoke kindly, waving his cane towards a door, gesturing them to come inside.

"All in time, all in time. Take my new feather up to the loft; give him some food… put him up in Tiny's room I suppose. Let him sleep until morning. I've got good work for my wings tonight."

Mr. Steel smiled. Harry felt a smile coming over his face, relief echoing through his body. He knew to the depths of his soul that his life had just taken a drastic turn from what it might have been before. As he followed the boys of the stairs, his legs trembling from exertion, he couldn't help but wonder if it would be for the better, or the worse. Once he smelled the food, he made up his mind. _This was most definitely better!_

* * *

_~Review Please!~_


	2. there is He,

_**Authors Note: Thanks to my beta A Mistake for helping me edit this chapter! I hope you like it!**_

* * *

Two excerpts from "_Memorable Muggle Mornings: the Undercover Wizard._"

_"It has chewed my shoes. It has shredded the curtains. It has peed and pooped and is in every way disgraceful. I came closer to using a spell then I have since starting this little experiment. I have to buy it food, and I had to take it to this Muggle animal nurse called a "Vet". They then stuck needles into it (looking highly painful) and several other things that I dare not mention for shuddering. It has no redeeming values and I am quite certain I will need to dispose of it somehow._

_(One week later)_

_I was sitting in my favorite chair after a long day of strenuous Muggle yard work called "Weeding" when I heard that dreaded meow. Certain it was up to some act of mischief I prepared to get up when the thing jumped straight into my lap! At first I thought it was growling and prepared myself for attack… and then it curled up and I realized it was purring! Such a loud purr it was. I've decided to call it Purniskus. How very sweet!_

* * *

"He has done it again! And I am not fixing it up this time!" Mike ran down the stairs, yelling all the while.

He was followed soon after by a glum Harry. Kerr sighed at yet another ruckus, and resigned himself to simply waiting until Mike caught up to him at the front desk. He gave up watching the shop for any customers that might come in as the two younger kids took his attention. Mike glared at Kerr, which did not bother him the least.

Harry withered at Kerr's questioning look.

"I'm sorry, I just couldn't see it very well!"

"It was two freaking feet from your front nose, Skinny, what'cha mean you couldn't see it?" Mike crossed his arms and growled. It was clear to all that he was losing patience with Harry's clumsiness.

"I've shown you a million times, the wooden bar has to be nailed straight across the penciled line or the chair won't hold! And to make it worse, this is the third time you've ruined an order because you can't follow simple directions!"

Harry looked pleadingly at both Kerr and Mike. He had tried so hard to be a good worker, and did not want to do anything to make his new housemates angry. Maybe he just wasn't cut out for making anything, let alone something like chairs where small mistakes were very noticeable. Harry had noticed the boys seemed to be doing things other assembling custom-ordered furniture, often sleeping in late into the morning and staying up to all hours at night. That left Harry to do a lot of the orders himself, which had turned into one disaster after another. Harry spoke up when he saw Kerr's inquiring look.

"I swear I couldn't see it! It needs to be darker or something… there _wasn't_ a line there, I swear! I promise, go look for yourself!"

Kerr frowned and turned to Mike, who angrily shook his head.

"I double checked, the pencil was there clear as day. And it has to be something easy to cover up when we stain the wood so we can't mark it with freaking markers."

"It wasn't….!"

Kerr interrupted Harry before he could finish his defense.

"I believe you when you say you didn't see it. I've been wondering ever since you tripped right over that stool, and the fact that you have to hold any written instructions inches from your face. Have you ever been to an eye Doctor?"

As Harry shook his head Kerr continued.

"Well that explains it then. I'm not sure how we can get you into one without questions being asked though, and those doctors don' come cheap. I'll speak to the Mister for you tonight. Mike, go back up there and redo that chair, its got to be done by Saturday and Mrs. Hopkins's table set hasn't even been started. Give Harry something to do that doesn't require excellent eye sight."

Mike ushered a worried Harry back up the stairs, grumbling all the while. "I knew you'd be trouble Skinny, and now you're blind too!"

Harry gazed desperately back at Kerr for any sign of help, but the older boy's attention had drifted away from them without concern.

He did not know what to think. For as long as he could remember, he had had trouble reading things far away. Often he was called stupid simply because he had no idea what people were talking about. His aunt had always showed him how to cook and clean, never letting him use directions or a cookbook. Teachers avoided him because of comments made by his relatives. Outside of school, Harry rarely did any reading at all, and he was never allowed to play video games or watch T.V. Was this really something that could be fixed? Would his eyesight just keep getting worse and worse? Was he going _blind? _Harry felt his breathing increase and tried to calm himself down. Kerr didn't seem too worried. Maybe everything would be alright. And if, somehow, he could see better... He could really earn his place here! Mike wouldn't be able to pick on him so much. That alone would be worth seeing a doctor. Harry glared at Mike's back.

Why did the older boy hate him so much?

* * *

Harry sat in a corner desk and quietly rubbed redwood stain into a newly completed chair. Yesterday marked his first week staying with the Steel Wings, and it hadn't gone smoothly. Though he had followed all the directions he had been given, and even cooked once when it was his turn (which all the boys, even Mike, had admitted that the food was very good), he still kept making stupid mistakes when it came to putting the simple parts of wood together. Now he had basically been relegated to staining the furniture (a smelly, sticky job), and fetching tools.

The 'Wings lived in a loft on the third story above old Mr. Steel's (affectionately called 'Mister' by the boys) furniture shop. The second floor was a workroom station for making custom furniture and renovating old antiques. Kerr, Mike, and Rick were legally Mr. Steel's employees and were the only ones paid a small salary other than the simple food and place to live. What the 'Wings did at night Harry still didn't know the details of, and the odd errands Mr. Steel sent them on at random times during the day was a complete mystery. Harry also wasn't allowed up on the fourth floor with the other boys. Harry was beginning to wonder if Mr. Steel was up to something illegal.

More illegal than harboring stray kids, anyway.

Harry and Tiny were usually kept out of sight of any passer-bys, and weren't allowed down stairs unless it was checked first. If they were caught here Mr. Steel could get in trouble for harboring runaways without reporting it to the police. Tiny sometimes got to go with the older boys, especially at night. He had heard Rick say to Tiny that he was a "Fast Thinker" the other morning, and Tiny had walked around beaming the whole day.

Last night Tiny had confided in Harry that once Harry was accepted as "one of them" he could get their gang sign, which was two steel wings inked onto their shoulder blades. But when Harry asked to see Tiny's, the boy had refused, and pretended to go to sleep when he insisted. 'Probably doesn't even have one' he muttered under his breath.

"What's that, Skinny? Lamenting your blindness?"

This came from a smirking Rick as he entered the room and sauntered over to a table and sat down. Harry was about to snap back before he reconsidered.

"Rick, is it true that all you guys have tattoos? Did they hurt a lot?"

Rick smirked and nodded.

"Yep, you get one wing after your first successful solo assignment, and your second once Mister considers you to be a good asset to our team. In other words, when you start getting paid."

Rick leaned back in the chair. What assignments, Harry wondered? Does he mean the deliveries? Before Harry could get up the courage to ask, Rick spoke up again with a smug tone.

"And it didn't hurt at all."

"Liar."

This came from Kerr and he walked in.

"If I remember right you cried like a baby the whole time."

"Did not!"

The two jostled a bit in fun before Kerr backed off and looked serious. Harry sat up straight as he was fixed with a stern eye. Kerr then turned to Rick again.

"The shop is closed, and Mister will be here any time. I need you to go get Mike, for some reason he isn't back yet from delivering those packages."

Rick nodded and quickly got up and left the room. Kerr took his seat and sat down facing Harry.

"The tattoos, no matter what anyone says, are very serious to us. It means you're with us for good, and that we are with you as well, through thick and thin. You're pretty smart, for a kid, and you have a way of remembering things after only one time learning it. But you're going to have to be something special if you want to stick with us long-term. We've had a few people get the first wing and then leave. We've had even fewer people get both and then leave us. But we have had many boys, and even a few girls, who don't even try, or they just don't have the talent for our line of work. I think you might have what it takes, and that's why you're here."

Harry nodded, then asked curiously,

"What happened to those who earned both wings? Why would they ever leave?"

"Once you are part of us, you never really leave. Occasionally they come back for a special job or two, or just to visit. Mr. Steel considers us all his family, him never being able to have a family with his wife dying so young and all. As for why people leave, well. Most don't stick around once they reach eighteen and don't need Misters protection anymore. They go to other better paying jobs, get girlfriends, some even try and go to college. What we do for Mr. Steel is... out of the ordinary. Some leave simply because they don't believe in it. I don't think we've ever had over five boys here at one time before. When one leaves we look out for another recruit, but we don't actively seek any. I'm the oldest here at the moment, Clyde left after he asked a girl to marry him a year back. He was thirty two."

"Wow! How long was he in Steel Wings? How long have YOU been in Steel Wings?"

Harry exclaimed quickly. He had been about to ask why 'believing in it' would having anything to do with a warm shelter and food in your belly, when he had been distracted.

"He was with us since he was thirteen, and was one of the first boys Mr. Steel took in after finding he needed some… _younger_ help. That was before we were even called 'Steel Wings'. I've been here since I was your age, eight. I earned my first wing within only a month, but didn't get my second till I was fifteen."

As Harry was about to eagerly ask more questions, there was the sound of feet running up the stairs and Tiny peeked in and told Kerr.

"Mister is here, said he read your note and wants to talk with you… privately."

Tiny said the last while looking pointedly at Harry who had been about to follow Kerr down the stairs. Harry tried to shrug it off and go sit back down nonchalantly, but inside he was a ball of nerves. Would Mr. Steel not want him anymore since he might need glasses? Would he even get the chance to go to a Doctor? He didn't have any money, and he seriously doubted any of the other boys would lend him some from their personal savings so he could afford glasses.

* * *

About an hour later Harry finished with his work for the day and trudged up to his temporary room he shared with Tiny. He sat on his bed and had no idea what to do with himself. He had already found that there wasn't much to do here besides work. He had saw that Tiny and Mike both had schoolbooks to work on that Mr. Steel had given them. Apparently, once you'd been accepted into the gang you got home-schooled, or something of that nature.

When he'd mentioned it to Rick he had vaguely mumbled that "Mister don't want no dummies in his house" or something along that nature. Harry wondered if the fact that he hadn't been told anything about it was a sign that they weren't going to let him stay around.

He wasn't even sure if he should stay anyway. No one but Kerr and maybe Tiny seemed to like him, and he'd never even talked once to Mr. Steel. He'd gathered that there were other groups in the area willing to harbor 'strays' for a certain price. What that price was depended on who was asking, it seemed. The one time Harry had had the courage to ask, he quickly dropped the subject after getting some dirty looks from Rick and a slightly sick one from Tiny. Apparently the price was too high to mention.

There was a brief knock on the door, and then Tiny sauntered in and motioned to Harry.

"Alright, come on, Mister wants to talk to you."

Harry followed Tiny down to the bottom floor, and after crossing through the shop entered a door along the side wall. He had never been through here before, and had been told to not go in there and bother Mr. Steel, so he had assumed that this must be where he lived. His assumption was right.

All along both sides of the room were shelves and shelves of books, floor to ceiling. Various dusty gadgets rested on shelves and Harry could even see what looked like a telescope with a long tube attached to the end.

"Hurry Up!" Tiny whispered. That jolted Harry out of his reverie as he realised he was lagging behind.

They continued on through the Library-like room and into another room cluttered with papers and old computer equipment. Behind a desk in the right corner sat Mr. Steel, and across from him Kerr sat in a comfy looking chair. There was an empty chair beside him, and Kerr motioned him to sit down. Harry noticed another two doors at the other end of the office, but before he could really look through the one open door Mr. Steel spoke.

"Read off this third line of letters for me Harry. Off this sheet."

Mr. Steel held up a sheet of paper with various sizes of letters on it, ranging from a huge letter E to some very fine print at the bottom. He squinted hard at the third line.

"Um, A, C, U G, um, ah, F, S."

He stuttered over a few letters but thought he had gotten them right. Mr. Steel nodded to him, his voice encouraging.

"Very good, very good. Now how about this bottom line? Line seven?"

When Mr. Steel pointed at it with his hand, Harry tried his best, but there was no way. He could barely even tell they were letters as they blurred together.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I can't really tell… I think that's a G, and ah maybe a R? Ah, I…."

Harry felt himself turning bright red as he struggled to see what was only a few feet in front of him.

"That's enough, Harry. I can see the issue, and it appears you're near-sighted. Now, we can't just go out and buy you a pair of glasses. No, no, you will need a prescription." Mr. Steel sighed, but he picked himself up soon enough. When he spoke next, there was no sign of disappointment in his voice, signs Harry himself hadn't realized until now that he'd been desperately hoping to never find. It was not certain, but it was a start.

"Now, Harry, how have you liked it with us so far? Getting along good with the boys?" Mr. Steel asked.

At Harry's quick nod yes he continued.

"Well, I've been talking with Kerr here, and both of us like your gumption. You've never once complained about anything, and you learn fast. This glasses thing, well, we can work around that for now. Perhaps, if your first assignment goes well we can work out a bargain to cover the price of the…."

Before Mr. Steel has finished Harry has blurted out

"First assignment? So you're not kicking me out?"

He immediately turned even more red and hunched down in the chair when he realized he has interrupted the boss. Mr. Steel only laughed.

"Of course not! Why, I have glasses myself don't I? And don't go thinking that's just cause I'm old, I've had these since I was a little lad, only a little older then you."

He smiled and continued.

"Kerr is going to explain to you a bit of this business we have going on, behind closed doors so to speak. You listen well and do as he says and you'll be a pro in no time."

He winked then shooed them out of his office. Harry felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. With a lighter step he followed Kerr back up the stairs. He couldn't wait to finally figure out what it was exactly that this group of boys did.

* * *

Excerpt from "Memorable Muggle Mornings: the Undercover Wizard."

_"It is odd how the Muggle culture, while so different from ours, is almost a perfect mirror when it comes to certain things. Take communication, for instance. Both Muggles and wizards have a slow means of communication: Ours by owl, theirs by personal delivery of other Muggles, usually by these fast box things (how they move is somewhat of a mystery to me still). In both of our cultures you can pay more for faster delivery (our hawk is their aero-plane)._

_When it comes to instantaneous communication though, I can't help but think they have us matched, or perhaps even surpass us. While we must hurry to a fireplace and hope the person we wish to contact is near their registered fireplace, they merely pull out this small hand sized device called a tale-phone, or "cellular-phone". The person they wish to contact would also have this device (in fact, nearly every Muggle I see carries one around, even the children!) and they speak through it to the other person! Truly amazing technology. Upon further research at a local Muggle library, I read that they utilize "radio" waves, which sounds much like our own Wizarding echo spells we utilize for our own Wizarding radios, which of course opens another train of thought… are Muggles using magic? And if so, perhaps an even scarier thought: can their technology discover us?"_

* * *

Kerr lead Harry into an upstairs room, where Mike, Rick, and Tiny were all sitting down. He gave them a nod, smiling, to which Mike and Rick looked highly annoyed.

"He stays?" Mike asked.

"Yes" Kerr answered, and then turned to Harry. "So now its time for you to know what it is we are doing here."

Harry fidgeted a bit, dying to ask questions already. Kerr began what promised to be a long story.

* * *

Mr. Steel had, in the early days after his wife had passed away, encountered an odd and most unusual phenomenon. Being the philosophical sort needing a distraction as well as curious enough for a room full of cats, he had noticed while waiting at his usual bus stop that certain people would seem to enter a back alley, while others never noticed the alley at all. Over several days, he also saw that all the people who entered the alley wore long, dress like thick robes, and tended to wear the funniest pointed hats.

One day, he made up his mind to approach this alley. Right as he stepped on the curve, his caught a glimpse of an odd, dinky looking pub…. And then he was in his kitchen drinking tea. He distinctly remembered deciding abruptly that he wanted tea, and had walked all the way home. The next day, he tried again to enter the alley, only to once more get a strong desire for afternoon tea. It didn't take a third attempt to realize that something mysterious was up. He continued his experiments: how close could he get before he wanted tea? Could he go from the side? What about the store next to the alley?

It was then, as he was performing another such experiment, when he saw one of the funny dressed people drop a newspaper. Curious to see what it was, he swiped the newspaper and quickly walked home. What he saw shocked him. The pictures appeared to be moving! He could find no scientific explanation, and together with one of his colleagues whom he shared the story with they began to search for more suck off articles. He also began to write down all the experiments he had performed, and a detailed observation of the newspaper artifact, including the articles it contained. And such articles! Talking about things that didn't exist like dragons and wands and magic… it must be some sort of code! He wrote down everything, even drew a few sketches, and it was this that saved him from being sure he was mad.

One day he came home, feeling slightly out of sorts and a tad lost. He couldn't quite remember what he had done that day, only that he "knew" it had been "normal". It was odd enough to his organized mind that this had happened: even more odd was a journal he couldn't quite remember opened on his desk… and it was filled with his handwriting!

After reading the journal he was shocked to see all these things he did not remember doing: the alley, the newspaper (which he later found was missing from his coat pocket) and the last entry he had written had been a hurried explanation that he was heading to a particular bookstore that might contain more clues about these mysterious people. He immediately contacted his colleague, found that his memory too must have been altered: and that was when he came to his conclusion.

Some group, perhaps even from the government, possessed some sort of science that they were hiding from the citizens of Britain and even the world: and it was his duty to expose them! Such technology that was casually mentioned in the newspaper would help many people in their daily lives. This underground group had their own society that they selfishly hid from everyone else, and if the government didn't know about it, well, he would make sure they did! Why, did they even pay taxes?

His questions went on and on, and he couldn't help but wonder how much research he might of lost that he hadn't bothered to write down in his journal. It was almost exactly a year after his discovery of the newspaper, and that was when he decided to get help. He needed someone most people wouldn't pay attention to, and that nobody would be looking for. Someone who would work closely with him to find these people, discover their secret, and tell the world about their existence.

His obvious choice was homeless people who needed a place to stay, and in particular, children. He told himself his wife would be proud of him for taking them in anyways, and that it was only natural to ask a little help in return with his research.

* * *

"So what do you do then?"

Harry blurted as Kerr stopped his story to get a glass of pop. Mike and Rick shushed him and Harry squirmed. Something about this story… about these people, in particular, seemed almost…. familiar.

Kerr continued.

* * *

The first few people Mr. Steel had helping him with his research were useless. They didn't believe him at the best of times (since his one shred of proof, the newspaper, was gone) and actively argued with him and thought he needed help at the worst. Mr. Steel eventually found that it was easier to start with younger kids, below the age of twelve, who also hadn't been on the streets very long and were open to new ideas. It was one such kid who found the next big discovery.

It happened more than ten years ago. Clyde was a small boy for his age, but quick and clever. He also had a knack for getting out of trouble. One such day, as he was looking going through some trash bins behind a shop that was on their "Suspicious activity list" a tall, black haired man came sweeping out of the shop.

"You there! What are you doing?"

Clyde did exactly what any kid would do. He ran.

"Stop!"

There was a swooshing noise, and an odd ball of red colored light smacked the wall to his left. He glanced back quickly, saw the man holding a short stick… then scampered through an alley and ducked under a trashcan.

"Did you find him?"

This was another voice, and he couldn't see who is was from where he was hiding.

"No. Little Muggle was too fast."

The voice was close, very close. Clyde held his breath.

"Ah well. We need to move again anyway. Did you find anything for the Dark Lord?"

"No. The rumor most definitely was contrived. All there was were a few books on basic herbology and magical creatures. Nothing at all useful about how to create magical creatures like Rasils. We will need to look elsewhere."

There was a thump above Clyde, like a package was cast down.

"Incendio! Lets try the next one. Point three, the blue X."

With the last word there was a loud cracking noise then nothing. Ever since the weird Indindy word Clyde had begun feeling oppressive heat. Suddenly smelling burnt paper he darted out from under the bin and looked quickly around. They were gone! He turned behind him. There were several books burning in the bin, and without thinking much further he darted in and tried to pull several from the flames. He managed to salvage two books. Their titles read: "_1001 Reasons to Harvest Magical Herbs_" and "_The Most Dangerous and Valuable Magical Creatures."_

The books, after close study and recopying by Mr. Steel, began to change his idea a bit about the identity and motives of these odd people. First, they called themselves "Wizards", and the weird guns "Wands." These code words seemed so obvious, it was no wonder people thought they didn't exist, they seemed like something from a children's book!

Another theory of the motive to these people also began to take root in Mr. Steels mind. After realizing the extent of the cover-up, how whole species of plants and animals were being hidden from the public… and that most of these plants and animals had properties to them that could cure almost any ailment and perform most wonderful effects… it must be money and greed! Why, these people had at their fingertips plants whose leaves could help heal broken bones in a matter of minutes! Imagine how much people would pay for such "potions"?

The more Mr. Steel thought about it the more it made sense, and the more determined he was to bring them to justice.

* * *

Kerr paused, then smiled at Harry.

"I know this sounds far fetched, and downright odd. Let me show you our collection."

He got up and the others followed him up the stairs to the fourth floor, then into another room, to a door Harry had barely noticed, it was almost hidden behind a corner of a bookshelf and table. Tiny was practically bouncing. Harry entered the room, and felt his eyes widen.

The room was full of shelves and shelves of weird devices and books. Some of the devices did impossible things, like shine without any source of light, or change suddenly into totally different objects. Some were locked in steel cages, which they occasionally banged against as if trying to escape. There were pictures on one space of wall, and in every one… the people and animals moved!

"Pretty amazing isn't it?" Kerr asked. He laughed in delight.

"We've come a long way since those first books. With every discovery we learn more about these people, and it becomes easier to find artefacts. I myself found one of the more useful ones, it was how I earned my first wing."

Kerr reached out and pulled a book off the shelf, then handed it to Harry.

"Before you can help us keep looking for more information and items you need to learn about these people. Read their books, we have almost thirty here now. Also, you need to study the maps we have made of London, and where we have found items and where known Wizard locations are. Don't forget about what happened to Mr. Steel. If you get caught, you won't even remember it, and it could lead them back to us. In all this time, only once more have they caught us, but we were lucky… we had made copies of what they took from us, and the items they recovered were not our true treasures."

"So these here..."

Harry pointed around the room.

"We have even more?"

"Yep. But you can start with these. Maybe once you've been with us awhile, once you learn some stuff, we can show you where the really hardcore technology they've created is. Don't feel bad, Tiny here hasn't seen it yet either."

Kerr said after seeing Harry's down expression.

Tiny nodded and smirked. "But I will see it soon!"

Mike laughed and playfully bumped into Tiny.

"You sure will if you keep it up. He found some cool stuff last week that we are still looking over, trying to see what it is. One thing we've also learned is to be careful. Some of the items, well, they are dangerous. They can hurt you in the most painful ways."

For a second Mike glanced over at Rick, who looked haunted. Harry felt as if his head was spinning at all this new information, that there was a world out there he never knew about… and yet….

"Hey, skinny, you going deaf too? Come on!"

Mike growled at Harry and he realized that the others had been filing out of the room and back towards the dining room. His stomach growled and he reflected that he could start reading the book after dinner. He glanced at the title. "_Wizarding Society: Seven hundred and Seventy Seven Ways to Fulfill Your Dreams._"

* * *

Mr. Steel leaned back in his chair wearily. Late at night, he tried not to count the years and wonder if all he had done so far was worth it. What was he supposed to measure his life against? What was his great achievement? Would he ever succeed in cracking into the hard shell of this mysterious hidden world?

Even if he did, would anything at all come of it. With merely one spell, all he had done would be eradicated. It would be so easy for one small mistake to topple the house of cards he had built here. Still... the benefits, if he were to succeed in harnessing this technology. Or if he could just get some magical specimens. The plants alone! To cure cancer! But who on earth would believe him?

Mr. Steel again felt the crushing weight of inadequacy. He had come to the conclusion some time ago that there must be officials in the government who were aware of the phenomenon. If even someone like himself could stumble upon the secret world, who else had? Hundreds surely, if not thousands. Someone had to be also keeping tags on the mundane side of things. All his research could come to naught if he told the wrong person about his discoveries. What would happen to the children?

With that last despairing thought, Mr. Steel abruptly stood up and walked into another room and over to a cabinet. As his hand touched the handle, he asked himself again.

_Was it truly worth it?_


	3. Who made the bright sky,

_**Author's Note: Thanks to my awesome beta A Mistake! (edited 4/8/13). Review please, tell me what you think!**_

* * *

Excerpt from _"Memorable Muggle Mornings: the Undercover Wizard._"

_It is pretty common knowledge that Muggles tend to explain away any oddness with some dull or drab explanation. Even if that explanation is an obvious stretch of the truth. What did surprise me, however, is the outcome of several of my talks about my Muggle experiences with my wizard acquaintances. Wizards are just as likely to think nothing of the odd things Muggles do without seeking the real meaning!_

* * *

Over the next few weeks, most of the things Harry read seemed to resonate inside his mind. Like when he read about the floo network and he got a brief image of green flames, even though he didn't find out till two books later that floo flames were not normal colored, but green from flame protection spells in the floo powder. It made his head hurt.

It was bothering Harry.

Then one day, when he was looking over the objects that had been collected, he picked up a clear glass ball whose effects had yet to be determined: and it had swirled with cloudy colors that slowly turned red! He quickly put it down, and from that day on avoided the room unless totally necessary. The things in that room just made him feel… like a freak again. He was only just now starting to fit in with the other boys, and he didn't want to lose the only friends he'd made by doing something weird.

By the end of his second month with the group he had finally finished reading the materials deemed "necessary" and had discussed them with the other boys. They all had different opinions on their "mission". Were these people hiding from greed, as Mr. Steel seemed to think… or to protect something? Rick seemed to be of the opinion that the government was working with them, and that all the things they were protecting were probably rare and almost extinct. When he got to that part Mike interrupted him with a snide remark.

"Explain the dragon population records in that big black book…. Nothing there hints at any threat of extinction!"

"Well, maybe they want to protect us! What can we do against a _dragon_?" Rick argued back with equal vehemence. Mike rolled his eyes.

"Ever seen a big gun, dummy? A rocket? _Missiles_? We could so take down a big, flimsy, flying lizard!"

"The book says their scales are impossible to penetrate! and..."

Harry tuned them out as the argument deviated from there. The boys tossed around what information they had read, but when it came down to it, they were all scared to death of meeting a real wizard face to face, much less any magical creatures. And despite what Mike said, Harry had trouble seeing the average person facing down a dragon of all things. Even with a big gun.

Kerr had told him to keep his mind open. Every discovery brought up new challenges and ideas and information about these '_Wizards_'. Harry was to learn all he could, and remember that there was an unlimited amount of information out there, just waiting to be found.

Finally he was told that he could begin to search himself. He would be escorted just like Tiny to several places they'd found where 'Magical' things tended to be left. They were all near heavily trafficked areas by the 'Wizards'. Harry was excited and more than a little nervous. He'd been warned way more than once about not getting caught, and to always avoid the lasers that the Wizards could shoot from their stick-guns called Wands.

* * *

"You ready?"

Kerr smiled at Harry who could only widen his eyes. It was around eleven at night.

"I get to go with you?"

Harry was sure he would be paired with one of the other boys. Kerr always seemed so busy, much too busy to escort the newest recruit around town.

"Yep. I like to go out with you all the first time, make sure you know how to do this the right way. Now, what are the three rules?"

"Be Quick, Quiet, and don't get caught!" Harry chirped, adopting Mike's sneer. Kerr laughed.

"That's right. Now, look at the map. We are going to the far side, gon'ta check around a bit from the roof of this building here, and then we approach from this back alley. You will be my lookout when I check the back. We haven't been here in a while since Rick thinks he was spotted last time. There is sure to be something there that we can use. Now what do you remember about this site?"

Harry looked at the map, searched his memory, and then replied hesitantly.

"We think it is some form of hotel for their kind, with entrances to two protected areas that might be a bookstore and a candy store based on the items we have found."

Kerr nodded.

"Exactly."

He then pointed to two grayed out areas adjacent to the site.

"Now just as a reminder if we get separated... Don't go near these two alleys, both have memory buffets that will send you back to base with no idea you ever went out again."

Harry nodded, he had already memorized the various 'memory buffets' but he appreciated Kerr's reminder. The wizards trended to think horizontally with their "spells". They rarely put buffets on ladders coming down from roofs, as most people approached on foot from the main road. This made a perfect way to get up close to a wizarding space. Sometimes, you could even go around a memory buffet by going up the opposite side of the building, crossing the roof, then climbing down. Harry was brought out of his thoughts as Kerr grabbed two bags then passed him one to sling over his shoulder.

"Well, let's head out!"

* * *

Harry hadn't been outside the building for more than a brief walk since he first joined the group. It was dark outside, with the streetlights casting bright spots along the highways. Mostly, they stuck to back alleys. Harry tried to hold the map in his mind as they went along, keeping track of where they were. It took almost an hour of fast jogging to get there. Kerr motioned up a ladder in front of an old brown building and he quickly followed him up to the roof. They looked down into an oddly normal alley behind another old building.

Kerr leaned in to whisper close to Harry's ear.

"Now we have a specific route to get down there. Down the ladders on this side, then we crawl behind those two bins. You then wait there and make the signal if you see anyone, and I mean anyone, come out of that building."

The signal was an owl hoot, which Mr. Steel figured was perfectly ironic considering the peoples frequent mention of "owl post".

Harry then carefully and quietly followed Kerr down into the pitch-black darkness. It was slow going, and at times it became hard to see where the next step was. When they finally reached the bottom Harry was shaking slightly as they ducked behind the dumpsters. Kerr made eye contact and nodded. Harry nodded back and sat back on his heels as Kerr quickly sprinted across to the other side of the alley and crouched down to look through the boxes stacked up behind the building.

They had explained the process to Harry before. When they had first started the search in teams, they had gone through garbage. This was an extremely hard way to find anything, because as they had found out, the Wizards would give a fine to anyone who threw away magical artifacts where normal people might find them. It was a streak of luck when, several years ago, a boy had noticed a strange occurrence. At exactly eleven o'clock a pile of boxes appeared from thin air behind a known site. Once the boy told Mr. Steel about this, the boys were sent to watch the sites one by one all night to see if this was a one-time occurrence. It wasn't.

Between eleven and one o'clock, several times a week, boxes would appear from thin air at many of the locations. In the early hours of the morning someone would come out, grab the boxes, and take them inside. Eventually Mr. Steel, after observing the phenomenon for himself, came to several conclusions. Apparently a creature that could fly, but that they themselves could not see, delivered the boxes. While this creature had the boxes in its possession, they couldn't see the boxes either. However, as soon as the creatures dropped off the boxes, they became visible. To the casual observer this could easily be explained away as not noticing the boxes were there in the first place. You would have to know, and be looking, to even notice at all.

As for what this creature was, well they weren't sure. There was no way they could use normal owls as they implied… unless there really was magic. How could they train them where to go? And how could they carry such heavy parcels? Mr. Steel was of the opinion that they were either some form of robot, or merely some type of portal. Harry, who kept getting an image of a small striped grey owl with glowing yellow eyes named "Flu-flee", liked to think they really were trained owls. It was much more cool then super robots. To him, at least.

Ever since making this discovery the Steel Wings had become much more prosperous. They had found dozens more artifacts by merely stealing a box or two every once and awhile and taking them to Mr. Steel. As long as they were careful and didn't take from the same place too often, they were relatively sure not to get caught. And as Mike said, it sure beat going through dumpsters.

Harry watched as Kerr picked a smaller box, about palm sized, then another rectangular one before stuffing them in his backpack and hurrying back. On their long way back to base his thoughts were full of what new discovery they might have made.

* * *

"Candy?" Harry asked. He was thoroughly disappointed.

"Yep. And unfortunately one we've already seen before." Kerr announced.

He was putting the rectangular box aside and beginning to open the smaller one. Harry looked at the candy's packaging.

"Bertie Bott's _Every Flavor Beans. _Doesn't sounds very magical to me."

"Oh it is!" Kerr insisted. "When they say every flavor they really mean it! Tiny got one that he swears tasted like cat food. We all know to stay away from that stuff. Though Mr. Steel likes to eat them. Says he got a 'most wondrous cheesecake flavor' one once."

"Not worth it to me! I got one that tasted like old lettuce." Mike said.

Harry turned when he entered the room, but turned his attention back to the pile of mysterious stuff at hand not long afterwards. Mike slumped into a chair, observing Harry and Kerr go through their takings for the day.

"Anything good?"

Kerr was squinting down at the small box." Not sure…This looks like some sort of jewelry, maybe earrings. We'd better wait for Mr. Steel to look it over first."

At Harry's confused expression, Kerr turned to him and explained further.

"We've found that a lot of jewelry does odd things when we touch it. Some of them give you bad headaches or rashes. One burnt up Luke, a boy that used to be here, very badly. Its better to wait and carefully examine it first when Mr. Steel is here in case anything goes wrong. He knows more about this stuff then we do."

"How?" Harry asked. "I thought you and Mike and Rick all have seen the other stuff."

Kerr shrugged his shoulders.

"Naw, not really. Some of the books only Mr. Steel has seen. And if he doesn't think we should see it, I believe him. Some of the things we have found… well, they just _feel_ evil."

"Oh." Harry mumbled.

He felt another echo in his mind. _Evil... Dark. _Why would the dark be evil? He wasn't a baby anymore! Harry shook the odd thoughts from his mind. It was late at night, almost two o'clock, and Kerr ushered Harry and Mike to bed; Harry followed his orders obediently while Mike did it with grudging acceptance because he still wanted to see what they had gotten now.

"Harry, sleep as long as you want tomorrow. I doubt Mister will look at the jewelry until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest." Kerr said.

Harry nodded then trudged to bed. He knew he needed to do some work in the shop tomorrow too, they had just got a rush order in for another whole dining room set, and they would need all the boys working on it to get it finished in time. He might as well sleep as long as possible since he was banned from building anything until he was able to get some glasses. His job would be to stain the finished wood, and lay out the large pieces.

* * *

The jewelry ended up being nothing special. Mr. Steel could find nothing in the least unique about it.

"Plain old earrings." He announced after studying it for some time.

"We could probably resell it for some extra cash. These look to be real stones."

He handed the box to Kerr, who looked at Harry then back to Mr. Steel.

"Think they might carry the cost of getting Harry to the eye doctor?" Kerr asked.

Harry stared at Kerr in complete surprise before turning back to Mr. Steel.

Mr. Steel chuckled. "Hm, hm, well, perhaps. Got to sell them first!"

Harry felt himself about to burst with excitement as he followed Kerr from the room.

"Would you really? Give the money for my glasses?" Harry blurted.

Kerr grinned. "Sure thing. Can't have my lookout being blind, now, can I?"

He laughed at the way Harry's eyes boggled at his statement, while the smaller boy was dumbfounded at the ease that Kerr trusted him. Harry thought he had gotten more smiles in the short time he had lived with Mr. Steel than he had in all the years of his short life before that. It didn't sadden Harry much, because he didn't know that there was any other way of growing up.

"Besides, I have a feeling that you'll more than pay me back later on. Now go on upstairs while I run over to the pawn shop and see if I can figure out a way to get you to an eye doctor." Kerr patted his shoulders.

Harry rushed up the stairs to tell Tiny the good news.

* * *

It took a bit of work, but Kerr was able to find an eye doctor who would check Harry's eyes with no questions asked. At least, that's what he told Harry. He had a feeling that money was probably involved. For all the trouble, the procedure was relatively simple. He merely looked through different lenses till he could clearly read letters on a wall. Once that was done, he and Kerr picked out a simple pair of frames and were told to wait a few minutes till they were done. When the doctor came back in and fit Harry for glasses, he looked over at Kerr with a serious expression.

"You happy?"

Kerr nodded firmly. "Yes, sir. Very happy."

To Harry's eyes, the doctor looked relieved at that, even if he was still serious.

"Good. That Steel is a crazy old man, but he does good work. These benches here are from his store."

The man paused, glancing from Harry to Kerr and back.

"You two take care. Steel has a heart of gold, I know. He means well. But you just tell me if you need anything else, alright?"

Kerr looked uncomfortable, but he quickly nodded and ushered Harry out of the room. When Harry left the store, he felt like a new person. He could see things he hadn't even knew he had missed. There were birds perched on wires across the street, and graffiti splashed across walls.

He looked everywhere, taking in the details, until Kerr laughed and told him he looked like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. When they got back to the place, Mike grabbed him and told him to go up and try again to put a chair together.

"Let's see if those fancy glasses of yours were the reason you are so clumsy."

Mike grumbled, before sitting in a corner to work on an ornate rosewood table. Harry was amazed at how easy it all was. The lines he had sworn hadn't been there spider webbed across the surface in pencil, and it was only a matter of time for him to put the braces into place. When he was done Mike reluctantly nodded and told him he had done a decent job.

"Now run off before I decide you need to stain it too."

Harry scampered out, determined that he would see if there was anything he hadn't noticed about this new place he was living in when he didn't have glasses.

When he entered his and Tiny's room, Tiny was sitting on the bed reading a comic book. Tiny looked up and Harry showed him his new glasses.

"Look nice!" Tiny exclaimed.

They talked a bit until Harry noticed that Tiny kept staring at him, and then quickly looking away.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked. Tiny seemed to be embarrassed that Harry had noticed him staring at all, which confused Harry even more. Tiny shook his head.

"Oh, nothing, it's just…"

"Come on. _A__sk._" Harry insisted. He saw how Tiny was steadfastly only glancing at Harry once or twice, keeping his eyes off his friend.

"Well, normally we don't ask about these things, you know, they are personal. Even Mike doesn't." Tiny mumbled.

Harry's forehead wrinkled in thought. Tiny didn't normally act this way, normally being full of energy and little tact.

"Ask about WHAT kind of things?"

"Well, you know, scars."

Harry suddenly understood, and realized his new glasses probably held his hair to the side, showing the odd scar on his forehead more prominently. Before he could say anything Tiny quickly interrupted.

"You aint gotta tell me anything! We all got 'em, hazard of the streets I guess. And the things that bring you to the streets. It's just, yours looks so… well, I don't know…. Planned. Or like, it was done on purpose, or something. I mean, you know what I mean, its looks like…"

"Lighting. Yeah, I know. I got it…."

"You aint gotta say!" Tiny blurted out. "I shouldn't of asked at all."

"It's ok." Harry reassured him.

"I got it before I can remember. My parents died in a car crash, and somehow I got this scar when we crashed. I think it was glass."

Tiny nodded quickly, trying not to look skeptical.

"Yeah, that makes sense. Perfect sense."

He nodded again and then looked hard at his comic book. Harry took the hint and walked back over to his bed. He got the distinct feeling that Tiny didn't believe him in the least. Well, It was the truth. He couldn't remember getting the odd shaped scar, but he had seen glass cut people before, and it usually was jagged shaped. Ah well, it didn't matter. That was years ago, and none of it really mattered today.

* * *

Things changed for Harry after that first time out with Kerr. He was almost drawn to the magical sites, and he never got lost finding his way around the city, even when he was separated from Mike one time out. Before he knew it he was the one allowed to creep forward and grab a few boxes, and it only took two such times to figure out that the objects Harry brought back were, well... _different..…._

* * *

_'String of Missing Objects Reported Throughout London'_

Daily Prophet, page 3  
By _Gloria Rosehip_

It seems that Owl Post has gotten less reliable lately. Over the last year, reports of missing packages have greatly increased over the London area. Despite the new sticking charms, Owls have been losing packages here and there, at one point as often as five times in one month! This is an outrage to the good witches and wizards of London, who would like to rely on Owl Post.

What is to blame, you ask? The Owls? The Charms? Dark Creatures?

We here at the Daily Prophet are proud to say we have found the cause. Wards! The Ministry has always been fond of boasting on the clear regulations and enforcements regarding wards. However, lately it seems certain wizards of ill repute have been putting up illegal wards left and right. We would like to remind these wizards that Owls are highly sensitive to magical disruptions, and if encountering an unknown ward will occasionally lose their senses and their packages.

If you care for your Owl and your post, you will follow ministry guidelines and report all and any wards you have currently and plan to place in the future. If you have any questions, please see the following question and answer session with Hilda Valesnit of the Department for… (_cont'd page 11c_)

* * *

The objects were reaching out to him.

The first time Harry crept forward he didn't think much of it. He just felt inclined to grab that particular box at the top, and none of the others _felt_ like being worth grabbing. When he got back and opened the box in excitement, he saw a very expensive looking dagger. Two snakes twined around the top, and the hilt was set with bright red rubies. At first he was disappointed, while it looked like it was worth money, it didn't look like Wizard technology. However, when Mr. Steel saw it he practically levitated in excitement.

"Finally! To see one right before my eyes…."

Mr. Steel began to reach out, and then jerked his hand back. He shook his head with a surprising amount of determination.

"No, no, better not."

He turned and looked at Harry. For a second he seemed about to say something, perhaps explain the purpose of the dagger.

"This is very, very good, son. Very good! I've been hoping that you boys would find one someday. These daggers were described in great detail in one of the books I have. A dark, dark book, all about Wizarding rituals that use… well, no matter. See these small knobs around the base of the blade and along the dull end? And this tiny snake here, with wings and a mane? Defining features of a ritual blade, very distinctive. "

Harry was confused at how this could be useful, but Mr. Steel wasn't very inclined to share any true details about what the blade could do. He wouldn't even touch it, but lifted the whole box up and quickly went back to his office after giving Harry a congratulatory smile. Mike sulked in the corner.

"Beginners luck!" He muttered.

Kerr gave Mike a glare and a scathing reprimand."Don't think I'm going to let you get away with leaving him! You were supposed to wait, and instead you just scampered back here with that big grin on your face. Serves you right that he actually found something."

Kerr turned to Harry.

"Beginners luck or not, why don't you go out again tomorrow night, it's about time we revisit another sight over on the west side. Last few times we haven't got anything good, but it's been over a month since we've tried."

Harry nodded, feeling butterflies in his stomach. Another time out, and so soon! He was so happy he had managed to actually find something worthwhile to the group. He hoped he could find more! Mike couldn't gripe then!

"Will… Mike be going with me again?" He asked in a small voice.

Harry wasn't sure he wanted to trust the surly boy to be his guard after he had already been left once.

"No. Rick will be your watcher. Now off you go to bed!" Kerr dismissed him.

Then, he turned back to Mike with a scowl.

"This is the last time I'm going to tolerate you…."

Harry closed the door behind him, grinning at the thought of Mike getting a good talking to. The boy seemed to have a grudge against him, and for the life of him he couldn't quite figure out why.

* * *

When Harry slowly approached the pile of boxes, it took him a few seconds to realize that he was being tugged. It was very subtle. It was almost like moving towards one area felt… smoother. More magical. As if turning away would make his fingers feel numb, his feet slow and rough, and the world would lose a little bit of its luster. His fingers reached of their own accord for another package, wrapped in crinkly paper and bound about with fraying string. It looked like it had been covered ages ago and put away in storage and forgotten, only to be mailed out as an afterthought.

It looked like pure rubbish. Yet… Harry's eyes began to drift shut, his fingers tightening about the package, his mind drifting to something…. Something right out of reach, something dull and blurry, calling to him, and all he would need to do was say the words and the door would open and he would _see..._

"Harry…. Harry!"

Ricks voice whispered fervently from nearby.

"Harry! Get back here! Snap out of it!"

Harry dropped the package with a loud thump. Rick cursed and quickly grabbed it (When had he gotten so close?) before turning and scrambling back the way they had come. For a second Harry felt out of breath, before a sound behind him prompted him to run after Rick. He didn't dare look back for fear they had been caught.

When he caught up to Rick a few blocks later the boy was glaring at him.

"What were you thinking? You don't freaking daydream in _their_ territory! _WE_ could have been caught! You better hope this thing is worth something or you are in big trouble!"

The boy scowled and turned away. Harry felt his shoulders sag as they returned to the shop.

_What had happened?_

* * *

Mr. Steel seemed deep in thought. He had been in the room with the artifacts when they had returned, looking over some books on Wizarding animals to try and find out more about what the winged snake on the dagger was, and whether it was a symbol or an actually living animal.

When Rick saw him he immediately started venting about Harry's mistake. Mr. Steel frowned, and cut him off.

"Let me see this package."

Rick frowned and slapped it on the table, earning an angry look.

"DO NOT let your anger cause you to damage something that could be of use!"

"That dolt already dropped it! And did I mention we almost got CAUGHT?"

Harry suddenly realized that Rick was acting not just out of anger. The boy was deathly afraid, his skin pale and his fingers shaking. Mr. Steel seemed to come to the same conclusion.

"Sit down, Rick. You didn't get caught, or you wouldn't be here now, and especially not with this. Next time, Harry will know to be more careful, and not get overconfident."

Harry wanted to deny that, and tell what had really happened to him, but Mr. Steel had already turned back to the package and began removing the paper.

Harry couldn't see what it was at first. Then Mr. Steel carefully lifted it up, and he could make out that it was a crude and roughly circular box. It looked like someone had taken an axe and just hewn the shape out of a piece of wood. It seemed to be stained a dark brown, though in places you could see the lighter more natural wood color underneath.

* * *

Mr. Steel was holding his breath. Was this….? Blood. Yes, what else could it be? It looked like the box had been splattered in blood, over and over, and then left to dry. He had never been gladder to be wearing gloves. Trying to gather his composure, he looked over at the two boys. Rick was still pale, and seemed to have no idea what it was he had carried to the house. Harry… looked like a mixture of confusion, anger, and fear. Mr. Steel wondered if the boy had somehow known what this was. Or perhaps felt it…?

This box had a purpose. A dark one. And was it any coincidence that Harry, on his first two tries, had brought back two of the darkest objects yet? First that dagger, meant to be used in various blood rituals. Ones that often involved unwilling donors. Now, this box, and who knew what was inside it? He certainly wasn't going to open it in front of the two boys, he had learned to err on the side of caution, and both looked scared enough as it was.

After he sent the two away, with a long look at Harry and some platitudes to Rick, he carefully rewrapped the box and took it through his office into the back room where he kept the more dangerous objects.

When he had first started his research, he had been afraid. Afraid of these people with their technology and secrets. Over the years he had learned of all the wonderful things they seemed capable of. Healing bones in seconds, creating beautiful moving pieces of art, Spells to do every household chore, Animals whose fur and feathers could create potions to become invisible, to fly, to walk on water… the options were endless. It seemed there was nothing they were not capable of. However, he had also learned of things that made his previous fear seem like a child's fear of the dark. Curses to make ones skin boil, bones vanish, heart stop. Objects whose touch brought death. Rituals to destroy enemy's minds or to make one have the strength of a hundred men.

It seemed for every beautiful thing these Wizards created, there were a dozen ways to turn it to evil purposes. He had begun to keep these dark things separate from the younger boys, not wanting to taint them with the darkness, letting them see the wonders instead. In his heart he had begun to wonder if it would do more damage than help to the human race to expose these monsters. If a few miracle cures were worth the price. If a man could buy a cure for blindness… could he not also purchase a potion to create it?

Over and over, after he opened the bloody box and calmly cataloged the grisly objects within, the question repeated in his mind. _Was it worth it?_

* * *

Things began to change. At first, for the better. It didn't take long at all for the other boys to realize that Harry had a knack for finding magical objects. Luckily for him, they were not always artifacts that Mr. Steel took away to the back room.

The third object he found was a miniature red bird in a beautiful silver cage, about the size of a man's fist. The small bird within would sing songs whenever a light was turned on, and seemed to give off a peaceful aura. Mr. Steel explained that it was a Wizarding child's toy, often kept above toddler's bed to make them laugh. It didn't have to be fed or watered like a normal bird, and the boys couldn't find any switch or batteries that operated it.

"Magic." Tiny proudly proclaimed after another attempt to find a power source failed.

Mike wanted to bust the bird open to see what it looked like inside, but Rick shook his head.

"That would be a shame. It's so pretty."

Mike rolled his eyes and frowned.

Kerr laughed." You can't do that, cause Tiny already asked if he could have it. He wants to keep it in his room, and Mr. Steel said it wasn't a problem."

"YES!"

Tiny exclaimed, and grabbed the cage before trotting to his room to hang it up. Harry shook his head, imagining listening to bird song all day long. It was a good day.

* * *

It had been over a year since Mr. Steel and the group had taken him in. Harry knew, in the back of his head, that he should be about nine and a half years old now. The other boys never celebrated birthdays, so Harry never really felt like mentioning it when his rolled around at the end of July. Instead, the boys celebrated every time they brought back something that was worthwhile to Mr. Steel.

Almost every time, when it was Harry's turn to creep forward to steal a box, he would feel steered to a certain area. Every time this happened the object was magical. Harry began to separate different tugs as well, and by the time three months had gone by he could tell different types of tugs. If numb fingers accompanied the tug, it was dark. If it was a very light tug, it usually led to a toy or some sort of candy. If it felt like a heavy, dull tug it was something that contained a powerful spell like the dagger. Sometimes he would feel more than one tug and could choose which one to follow. Sometimes a tug could feel like more than one sensation, which could mean it was an innocent toy with a powerful spell on it, or a book that contained a dark aura. Even so, it was always a surprise to find out what he had taken that day.

Though he was often tempted to explain the weird feelings to the other boys and Mr. Steel, something always held him back. What if they thought that he had been corrupted by one of the artifacts? Or if a Wizard had somehow gotten a hold of him and cursed him? Harry just shrugged when they asked him about it, and told them it must be luck. Eventually the boys stopped asking how. Harry was glad they hadn't started asking _why_.

Would he always be a freak, just like his Uncle said?

Not all of the boys were happy with Harry's talent. Mike seemed to get angrier every time, and had gone from tolerant to downright jealous and spiteful. Rick also wasn't entirely happy with Harry's success, feeling that the boy must be using some trick that he refused to share with the others. It came to a head when Kerr called them together to make an announcement.

The boys were all sitting down around the table in the kitchen. Kerr stood up, then asked Harry and Tiny to come over. "Mr. Steel has informed me that you two have about earned your first wing." Harry was speechless. He remembered when he first came to the gang and finding out about their tattoos. It had all seemed so unattainable back then.

"Don't we get our first one after a solo assignment?"

Tiny asked from next to him. Harry felt his joy sink a little. Figures they would have to go through a test first.

"Usually yes. However, Mr. Steel doesn't want us going out alone anymore. Haven't really needed to split up anyway, with Harry here bringing in so much."Kerr smiled at Harry with these words.

Mike and Rick both frowned.

"Tiny has been doing a wonderful job too, of course. It is actually past time for him to get his, but we figured you two could both get them done the same day."

Tiny nodded, but Harry could tell that he would have rather gotten his done separately. Though the boy never acted it, Harry could tell that Tiny felt a little bit left behind.

"We will all be going with you two to get it done next Saturday, after midnight. Mr. Steel has a man that does it for us. He did all of ours."

Kerr gestured to Mike and Rick. Neither of them looked happy. At least not for Harry. Both seemed genuine as they congratulated Tiny, but were sharp and brisk with Harry.

"So Skinny here will be a 'Wing. How ironic."

Mike muttered under his breath to Rick. Before Harry could turn and look back at him, Kerr spoke up.

"We'll have to go the back ways, don't want to attract any attention."

Kerr then began to explain the route they would take, and some basics about how to take care of tattoos after getting them. By the time Kerr was done, all the boys were ready for bed, and Harry had forgot about Mike's comment.

When Harry and Tiny finally went back to their room that night, it was hard to get to sleep.

"You think it will hurt much Harry?"

Tiny asked. Before he could even answer Tiny continued.

"I wonder if we'll ever get our second wing? You think so? How long you think before the tattoo heals and we can show it off? I hate that we have to keep it bandaged for a week, and rub that smelly stuff on it. Kerr sure does care a lot about infection, I bet no one's ever had any trouble before. I bet…."

Harry tuned Tiny out. His own thoughts were a world away. For him, the tattoo represented that he was finally going to be fully accepted into the Steel Wings. It wouldn't matter that Mike and Rick didn't like him as much; he would be one of them now. Maybe he could spend the rest of his life here, helping Mr. Steel research the odd and mysterious Wizards. Maybe one day he and Mr. Steel could expose them to the world, and then he, Harry, would be a _hero_!

* * *

Mr. Steel sat alone in his office, his face portraying infinite calm. In front of him lay a newspaper article, opened to a certain page. The newspaper showed signs of being read through many times, and this particular page was earmarked more than the rest. Slowly, Mr. Steel extended his hand and tapped a finger once, twice, thrice on the moving picture of a fiery salamander that peeked out from the back of a woman's exposed shoulder.

"Maybe this time."

His voice, a whisper, pierced the silence of the room.

* * *

_'The Folly of Wizarding Tattoos'_

Daily Prophet, March, 1995  
By: _Andrew Simmons_

_It's come to my attention that a few young fools have decided to restart the tradition of getting tattoos. It's a fad that reoccurs every few decades before some bright witch or wizard goes too far and scares everyone off the idea again. History has shown that any magical being who permanently inks anything into their skin is in for a, usually unpleasant, surprise._

_What we have learned is relatively simple. If a wizard designs his own tattoo, and spells it on himself, the tattoo will do exactly as he wants it to… if he of course has the proper wandwork and pronounces everything specifically right. If he goes to the Ministry and gets a certified Magical Symbologist put the tattoo on, it will perform the magic he desires as well. However, you cannot simply turn the tattoo on or off. If you enchant your tattoo to move around your body, it will move no matter what. If you allow a dog tattoo to bark, it will bark whenever it wants. And magical tattoos have proven nearly impossible to remove. Simply cutting off the skin and using a re-growing potion will have the skin come back with the tattoo still prominent.__Magical Symbologist Jerry Klacker puts it this way: "When you ink a tattoo of any kind on your skin, it also tends to 'ink' itself on your magical core. Since it withdraws the magic to operate from your core itself, if you try to remove it, it will not leave unless you remove the magic it is drawing from…. In effect removing a portion of your own magic"._

_This is a serious thing to consider when thinking about getting a tattoo. A few well known cases of Magical Tattoos gone wrong include Orion Decurus Lestrange in the early 1300's, who tattooed himself with black dragons that he intended to spit fire at enemies. However, the dragons instead set his clothing alight, and whoever came close enough were fair game for the pesky beasts. __In the early 1900s famous Auror Grisle Falkonwore had an eye tattooed on the back of his neck so he could see enemies behind him. Unfortunately the mind was not made to have three eyes, and ever after he tended to stumble and stagger around, and soon was forcibly retired after accidently cursing Octavion Malfoy with a Balding Jinx instead of the coworker he was planning to prank. __More recently, curse his name, the infamous You-Know-Who was known to force all his followers to receive his own magical tattoo that could allow them to teleport straight to his side, and if his Name were ever said in the presence of one who had the tattoo he would be able to listen in on anything that was said. And of course, in all the cases above the tattoos took up enough magic that removing them would result in immediate squib-hood. The Dark Mark, curses upon it, is a permanent identifying reminder of any who __had __bowed their necks to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

_But what about purely Muggle tattoos? If it is unenchanted, can it be easily removed? The answer is no. The few Wizards that have tried it have found it entirely unstable, and an even bigger risk than a purposefully enchanted tattoo. It seems, when a wizard gets a tattoo without it being applied with a spell and a purposeful intention, the magic of the recipient of the tattoo will spontaneously activate it.__Mary Kiggler, bless her soul, who at the time was chaser for the Chudley Cannons, found this out when she went with her friends to get a small fire salamander tattoo on her shoulder in response to a lost bet (see picture 3a) . After waking up the day after getting the tattoo she felt a horrible burning sensation. Looking in the mirror, she saw that the salamander was dancing in fire that had not been tattooed there, and that the fire was actually burning her skin. After going to the hospital to be treated with the burns, and finding out that anytime it got dark the tattoo would again burst into flames, she had to have it removed… and found to her horror that the loss of the magic that powered the tattoo took away her ability to fly on a broom. _

_As you can see, it is complete folly for any wizard or witch to get a tattoo of any kind. When looking at more unpleasant examples, Frederick Virefrock… (Cont. on Pg. 7b)_


	4. and hears the child singing high

**_Authors Note: Thank you to my beta A Mistake! Edited 4/8/13. Review please!_**

* * *

_Excerpts from_ "Before the Fall: Dark Days"

_"The Aurors were getting desperate. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's forces were getting stronger every day. Several Aurors came up with research on how to utilize the Dark Mark against the Deatheaters..._

…_.it has become well known recently that whenever He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named became angry, the Deatheaters who bore the mark would flinch as their mark began to flare. It would burn fiercely whenever they were summoned to a meeting. It could be used against the Deatheaters by the Dark Lord as a means of discipline for failure. At that time, Aurors noticed the phenomenon on captured prisoners, and began to assign men to monitor anywhere wizards congregated, like Diagon Alley. They were to watch the crowd from above, then report any disturbances that multiple persons had at the same time, like grabbing their arms simultaneously. They were to immediately apprehend these subjects for investigation..._

_...The success rate of this technique was phenomenal, and resulted in many captures in the weeks before The Fall. It illustrates yet another example of the unintended consequences of wizarding tattoos..._

* * *

The trip seemed to take forever. Harry was so excited it was hard for him to concentrate on where he was going, and before long he had no idea where they were in the city. They went through alleys, over roofs, and across roads. He was almost convinced that they were taking a long and winding route for just the purpose of not being able to remember how they got here. Kerr seemed to walk confidently, though, and Harry could imagine he had been here many times before. When they finally came to a stop before a dark warehouse-looking apartment building, Kerr turned to them.

"Be careful, and do not ask questions. He will not give his name, so do not bother giving yours. He knows two people are getting one wing a piece, and he has the sizes and details. Tiny, you go first. Remember all we talked about? Relax and think of something else. Do not forget to breathe."

With a reassuring nod to Tiny and Harry, he climbed the steps and entered a dimly lit hallway. They went up several floors using the back stairs, before stopping at room 47. Kerr had barely knocked twice before a man opened the door and quickly beckoned them in.

The man looked malnourished with a sickly tint to his skin, but the apartment itself looked surprisingly clean and well-kept. The furniture was all nice and the floors were carpeted. It did not seem to belong to this type of apartment building or this man. They entered a side room, what used to be a bedroom by the design of it. In the middle was a bench like-chair, and Tiny quickly walked over to it and lay down on his stomach like Kerr had told him to do. The man smiled slightly, before beginning to lay out various tools. He was careful to sanitize his hands and all of his equipment was shiny with frequent washes. Harry already felt a little better about the idea. He felt a poke, and turned to see Mike beckoning at him to sit down in some chairs lined up on the side of the room.

Harry felt nervous just watching the man get ready, but Tiny seemed comfortable. He barely flinched as the man began cleaning his shoulder where the tattoo was to go with antibacterial lotion.

"Ready?" The man muttered to Tiny.

Once he received a quick nod, he slowly began to outline the design. It must have taken at least an hour, but the time flew. Harry heard a soft word spoken every once in a while, but other than that they were all quiet. It amazed Harry that the man barely spoke at all, other than a direction every once in a while to relax.

Suddenly the man leaned back and stretched out his arms.

"I'm done here. I'll be back in a few minutes to do the next one."

With that he walked from the room and Harry heard a door shut somewhere else in the apartment. Tiny slowly sat up.

"Does it look okay?" He asked, trying to look over his shoulder.

"Dimwit, we can't see it. He already bandaged it for the night. Saves us the trouble, don't want you bleeding all over your shirt." Mike scoffed.

Tiny's face fell a little bit. "Oh. I didn't even feel him do that. He is fast."

Tiny looked at Harry.

"It wasn't bad at all! It tickled a little, and it hurt bad at first, but after a while you kind of get numb to it."

Tiny smiled brightly.

"I can't wait to see it tomorrow!"

The man abruptly walked into the room and Tiny scampered off the bench and over to an empty chair. Harry slowly stood up and walked nervously over to the bench. For a moment he forgot how he was supposed to sit. Mike snickered and Harry felt a flash of anger. Why did that boy have to be so, so, _contentious_! Yeah, that was the word.

Harry took off his shirt and lay down, but flinched when he felt a cold hand touch his shoulder.

"Relax." The man muttered.

Harry found himself holding his breath and let it out in a whoosh. Why was this so hard? He did not want the others to see him scared, but something about the thought of a needle cutting his skin was hard to handle. Harry tried to think of something else. It was hard to concentrate with the man moving tools about, and he could almost hear Mike whispering something to Tiny, and soft laughter. He flinched again at another touch, and the man made an annoyed sound. Harry tried to hold still. What was he supposed to think about?

Tattoos. No, that thought would only lead to needles. He was getting a wing on his shoulder. A steel wing to represent the group and Mr. Steel. It was a symbol of pride, and family. Do wizards make wings to fly around on? The thought seemed to pop out of nowhere, and Harry latched on to it. Mr. Steel had mentioned broomsticks though, so they probably did not. Harry felt a sharp pain and desperately tried to think of something else. Wizards. They could do anything it seemed like. Harry bet they could make wings if they wanted too. What would having wings be like? To be able to fly wherever you wanted. Why, if he had wings he would even be able to easily get away from any attacks, even from wizards! And if they were steel wings, they would surely be able to reflect back any odd laser-spells the wizards shot at him.

Harry began to warm up to his daydream. The constant stinging feeling on his back was beginning to become normal. Not bad at all. But man, steel wings would be so awesome! Would they be heavy? Steel is pretty heavy, but really strong. If he had wings though he would need to be strong enough to use them. How would that work? Bird wings were light, hollow. Hollow Steel? Harry felt himself starting to drift off, the pain in his shoulder dulling as continuous pressure was applied.

If wizards attacked him he could just fly away. Or maybe even attack them! Steel feathers would be sharp, deadly. He closed his eyes, relaxed, trying to picture it. They had spotted him stealing a package from a doorway. He saw them pointing their laser-sticks and quickly climbed up a ladder to the rooftop, the men fast behind him. When the wizards reached the top_ he would swoop down and..._

_But there was another wizard suddenly behind him. He felt dread wash over him. The dark figure paced towards him slowly, looming over him. Red eyes seemed to glisten from underneath the hood, and Harry heard a phantom scream from all around him, a woman's shrill voice. _

_Before he could make out the words, the man began to speak in a sibilant voice._

_"You will never defeat me."_

_The voice pierced him like a knife, and Harry could see a green light gathering between himself and the dark wizard. In slow motion Harry turned and ran towards the edge of the roof, desperate to get away from the green light, terror filling him. If it touched him, surely it would, would, what? His forehead burned and he thrust himself off the roof, plummeting down towards the ground. _

_Suddenly he remembered: He had wings! Of course! He spread them out and caught the wind, angling up and away from the building._

_He was flying through a cloudy dark space. Was he high up? It seemed he could almost see his reflection in the clouds. He began to descend, spiraling down slowly, enjoying the freedom of flight. He forgot all about his terror earlier with the wizard, and instead lost himself in the feeling of being aloft in the air. Flying was amazing! He suddenly saw ground beneath him, and began a slow descent. _

_He landed with a slow jog onto soft green grass. The sun seemed to be shining all of a sudden, and he could almost hear the sounds of a breeze moving through trees. He turned to see better when he was abruptly faced with a mirror. In it he saw himself with two majestic wings spread out behind him. They were steel grey with black markings running along the feathers. When he began to fold them mostly the black seemed to show, and as he stood there, idly moving his wings he felt an odd sensation deep in his chest. He closed his eyes, wondering, and could almost see what looked like a bright glowing sphere. It was made up of millions of tiny strands of light._

_From the sphere more tiny strings seemed to run throughout his body. They barely gave off any light except where they gathered in his hands and forehead. As he stood there, he could feel the sphere pulsing in time with his heart, and when he took a breath it seemed to expand then contract again as he breathed out. Was he seeing his heart? Where the strands of light blood pulsing through his veins? Suddenly the light shifted and Harry felt a pull in his chest cut off his air for a second. Another pull. The sphere seemed to be shifting back slightly. Then strands of light began to unravel from the sphere and move towards his back._

_They pooled for a moment at where his wings met his skin. Then with a quick rush that felt like the air being pulled from his lungs the strands expanded through his wings. They moved into every bone, every muscle, and every feather. Even the very tines that made up each feather began to glow. Harry could not breathe. The sphere of light was getting smaller and smaller, beating slower and slower. Was he going to die? The light inside his chest dulled to almost non-existence and Harry felt as if he was about to lose something precious, something that made him who he was. Then the pulling stopped and he could breathe again._

_He sucked in air in quick gasps, and saw that the light had stopped spreading through his wings. It hovered for a second, glowing, before beginning to retreat back inside him. The wings went with them. At first the wings, outlined in bright shining light, curled around his body, covering him from head to toe. Then they began to get smaller and smaller, turning completely to light as it reentered his body. The light-wings were so small Harry could barely see any details at all, only the barest impression of feathers on wing shaped objects. They seemed to now furl around the sphere of light, and for a second resembled a winged ball which sent an odd echo of memory through Harry's mind._

_Then they were gone. All that remained was the sphere, now pulsing on time with his heart. Harry opened his eyes, once more faced with his reflection. The wings were gone as if they had never been there. Harry abruptly staggered as something pushed him in his shoulder. He spun around, only to see nothing. A sudden sharp pain on his cheek made him angrily open his mouth to shout..._

And saw Mike's grinning face.

* * *

A dream. It had only been a dream. The other boys, even Kerr, teased him unmercifully about falling asleep while getting his tattoo done. Even the man grinned before ushering them out of the apartment. Harry felt at a loss. How could it of been a dream? It had felt so real, the feeling of flying, of soaring over the ground. Even the weight on his back had felt real.

The journey back was just as winding as the one there, but they took a different path back that didn't involve as much climbing. Harry was almost surprised to see a glimmer of dawn on the horizon. They had been out all night!

"Don't want to stretch out those new tattoos do we?"

Kerr laughed as they skirted around another building. Harry heard more laughter and saw Tiny's exuberant face. Tiny seemed to be on an emotional high, talking over and over to the others about how he could not wait to see his tattoo the next day. Finally Mike gave Tiny a playful shove and said in a not-so-playful voice.

"Enough already."

Harry sighed, which attracted Mike's baleful attention.

"What, not happy with your little wing, Skinny?"

Mike sneered at him. Harry wanted to snap something back at him, but lost the energy. He felt as if he had run a long-distance race over bad ground. It didn't help that they had all now been awake all night going into morning.

"Leave me alone." Harry muttered.

Mike laughed. The older boy loved any opportunity to pick on him.

"_Oooh_, leave me alone." Mike mimicked in a whiny voice. He then smiled viciously.

"Try not to fall asleep on us! _Ha ha ha ha_."

"Oh stop it, Mike. It's late. Or early, I guess." Rick spoke up.

Rick has been silent most of the trip, and seemed to be deep in thought. Mike just shrugged and turned away. It wasn't any fun to pick on the younger boy when the others might get annoyed.

By the time they got back to Mr. Steel's place, the sun was just beginning to shine over the top of the buildings. Kerr quietly told Tiny and him to go to bed, before staying behind to murmur something to the boys. Harry was too tired to care to try and eavesdrop. He fell into bed with barely a pause to undress, and was asleep before his head touched the pillow.

He dreamed of flying.

* * *

When Harry woke up he felt as if something was holding him down to the bed. He was so tired! Just the thought of walking down the stairs to eat breakfast made him wince. What was he going to do? He wanted to sleep another _day_, at least!

"Get down here or you aren't eating!"

Ricks voice echoed up the stairs. Harry heard Tiny grown and turn over, then yelp and sit up.

"_Ouch_!"

Tiny wrinkled his nose at the unexpected pain.

"This hurts more than I thought it would. My back is _sore_! Yours feel sore?"

Harry turned over and sat up, stretching his arms a bit.

"Yeah, my whole back feels like I got stomped on by an elephant."

Tiny shook his head. "My whole back doesn't feel sore, but the right side does that's for sure!"

Harry shook his head, then stood up and carefully began to get dressed. It was very difficult to pull his shirt over his head. As he struggled, Tiny began to bubble in excitement. It didn't seem the younger boy was that hampered by the wound.

"You think we can see them? What time is it? It's gotta be way past breakfast by now! I mean, it was practically breakfast when we got back. It's probably _supper_ time! They said tonight right? Right?"

Tiny seemed to have gotten over any soreness he felt as he quickly rushed downstairs to find out. Harry just sighed and sat back on the bed. He raised a hand to his chest and massaged a bit, circling his solar plexus. What was that feeling? He felt stretched thin, or oddly out of shape and short of breath. Was he getting sick? That would just figure, that he would get sick now that he was finally a real member of Steel Wings!

"Come on, Harry! They said after we eat!"

Tiny's voice drifted into the room, and Harry reluctantly stood up. He hoped it didn't do this the next time he got a tattoo, it was miserable! If he ever got another, anyway. He hoped so. Having just one would feel really lopsided.

As he limped slowly downstairs he was met with the sight of the boys eating dinner with Mr. Steel. He immediately stood up straighter and tried to act like he wasn't hurting that bad. Mr. Steel smiled at him.

"There you are! We were beginning to wonder if you were hungry. Sit down, sit down. It's already dinner time!"

Mr. Steel pointed to a chair, and Harry caught an odd look. Mr. Steel seemed to be disappointed in something. Throughout the meal Harry noticed Mr. Steel staring at him. Harry ate slowly, hunched over, and tried to just disappear, but the boys kept asking him questions and talking loudly. He was beginning to get a serious headache, and really wanted to go back to bed for the next few years.

"Okay, I'm done! Can I take the bandage off now?"

Tiny burst out finally. The boy was practically bouncing in his seat.

"Please?"

Laughter filled the room. It seemed everyone was enjoying themselves but Harry. What was wrong? Abruptly he knew he needed to get out of the room. He stood up, his chair scraping loudly. Before anyone could ask him what was wrong, he muttered "Bathroom", and walked quickly down the hall.

He closed the door to the bathroom behind him, and leaned over the sink.

When he looked into the mirror, he was struck by something missing. Wings. Wings that are not painted on, but _real_ wings, able to be spread wide and soar high in the sky…

Harry shook his head, angry at himself than at anyone else. That stupid dream! Every time he closed his eyes he could see the image burned into his mind. Two steel-grey wings, run through with strands of light. In his dream those lights had taken the wings away. He was suddenly struck by the odd idea that maybe, just maybe, those lights could bring them back. A knock on the door struck him out of his wild thoughts.

"You alright in there, Harry? Hmm?"

It was Mr. Steel. Harry suddenly realized that his thoughts were madness. What was he trying to do? Turn himself into a wizard? He shook his head at himself and opened the door to look into Mr. Steel's concerned eyes.

"I'm fine, just a little sore from last night. I'm sure it will go away soon."

Even to himself Harry's voice sounded weak.

"Oh, no doubt it will. Well, do not worry about the boys. They like to tease, but at heart you are part of the family now. Come in to the living room, Tiny is showing off his back, and everyone wants to see yours too."

This last was said with a deep, piercing look. Mr. Steel looked like he was about to say something more, but instead turned away and gestured towards the other room. Harry followed him, still confused and off-balance. He could not get rid of the feeling that everything had changed while he was sleeping, and that Mr. Steel had an inkling why.

* * *

Tiny's tattoo was a perfect replica of the other boys. The single wing was gracefully angled across his right shoulder, and each feather was carefully detailed. Something seemed off about it though, and Harry quickly saw why. The wing did not match the one he imagined himself having in his dream. There were no black marks running the length of the feathers, and the size was off. This wing was overly simplified, almost like it was more of the idea of how a wing should look, rather than a picture of an actual wing. The secondary feathers were much too short, and there was no alula, or wrist feathers, at all. This was _not_ a wing that could bear a person in flight. You would fall from the sky! Harry found himself horrified at the thought, and quickly shook his head. This was not the time to be daydreaming.

"Harry? Something wrong?"

Kerr asked, and Harry saw Mr. Steel quickly turn out of the corner of his eye.

"Oh, no, nothing is wrong. I'm just feeling a bit under the weather. I think I'm going to go upstairs."

Before he could even turn Mike quickly slid forward and grabbed him.

"Oh, no, you are not! We get to see your pretty little wing first."

Mike smiled maliciously, but Kerr was nodding along with him.

"The bandage needs to be changed. There is always a little blood the first night, and you do not want to get any type of infection from leaving it on too long." Kerr beckoned Harry closer, and he reluctantly began to pull off his shirt. It was not till he turned around to let Kerr take off the bandage that he realized something was wrong. All the talking in the room had stopped. Even Tiny was quiet. He began to turn back around to see what was wrong when Kerr stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Mike, you were watching, right? Harry was only given one tattoo. Harry, what did you do?" Kerr asked, his voice was unreadable.

Harry was confused. Kerr had not even taken the bandage off. What on earth was he talking about?

"What do you mean?"

"Harry, you have a tattoo on your left shoulder as well. And it's different than ours." Kerr's voice sounded odd.

Harry wished he would let him turn around so he could see his face.

"What do you mean? I only got the tattoo last night. It is a wing, right?"

"Little liar! I bet he snuck out last night to try and get one-up on us! No wonder he is so tired. And he didn't even get it right! It's different! " Mike yelled out, his face alight with justified anger.

"Of course it is a wing, Harry; it's just shaped and colored a bit differently than ours. And its, well, bigger."

Kerr was interrupted by Mike ."That's probably because he couldn't remember what it was supposed to look like! The little brat!"

"Now here, boys, I'm sure there is a perfectly good explanation for this. Come here, Harry. Rick, go get a mirror for us please, meet us in the bathroom." Mr. Steel said quietly.

Harry finally got a good look at the other boys. Tiny looked furious and Kerr looked disappointed. Mr. Steel was oddly calm. Mike acted like it was Christmas; the boy-who-could-do-no-wrong was finally in trouble. Rick just stared, confused. He knew for a fact that Harry had not left last night, because Rick himself had snuck out to meet a girl outside. There was only the one entrance and exit. No one had gone through.

When Harry got to the bathroom, Mr. Steel had him turn around and look into a hand mirror so he could see his back in the bathroom mirror. It was his wing. Exactly, in every detail, down to the very last feather. It stretched from the top of his neck all the way down the left side of his back, ending barely above the waistband of his pants. It was smaller than the ones he had in his dream by quite a bit, but still! Every detail was right! This was a wing that could fly! But, how had this happened? His mind could not comprehend it. Had he been corrupted by a magical artifact? Was this some sort of perverse joke by Mike? Was he still dreaming?

Mr. Steel reached up and carefully peeled off the bandage on his right side to reveal another wing just like the one on his left side.

"Impossible! I saw it; it was just like ours last night! I swear!" Tiny burst out.

He looked quickly between Harry and Mr. Steel. "I was watching close!"

Mr. Steel shook his head and began to walk out of the crowded bathroom and back into the living room. Harry was desperate. What had happened? Was he still dreaming? Harry quickly followed Mr. Steel into the larger room.

"Sir, I'm sorry! I don't know what happened, I promise!" Harry burst out.

"Oh you are getting it good now! Hey maybe he will get kicked out." The last Mike whispered to Rick just loud enough for Harry to hear it.

Harry felt his heart begin beating fast. It was a disaster! Mr. Steel said nothing, just shook his head. He looked overwhelmed. They were going to make him leave, Harry was sure of it now. None of the other boys would stick up for him if they thought he did this on purpose. The tattoo was supposed to be a special symbol that was earned, not just some trivial mark. They thought he had cheated, and probably stole some money to pay for it. Oh, how he wished he could just fly away like he had in his dream! Harry closed his eyes in despair, and clutched fervently at that thought. He wanted _to just fly away!_

At that thought something entirely odd happened. His heart seemed to skip a beat, and then began to race. His breath caught and he was pushed forward. His back ached fiercely and then there was a sharp, burning pain that ended as quickly as it had come. Harry abruptly realized that he had fallen to his hands and knees. He slowly stood up, feeling lighter, and finally pain-free for the first time since last night. When he shakily looked at the other boys, he was greeted with looks of shock. Mr. Steel's was the only one who looked like he knew what was happening, but he also seemed amazed that it had.

"What's wrong?" Harry whispered.

There was no answer right away, and then Mr. Steel stood up and approached him. Mr. Steel walked carefully, looking at something over Harry's head. Harry turned to see what could possibly be wrong, only to hear a chhhing sound, like the scrape of metal on metal. Before he could turn farther, Mr. Steel spoke.

"Oh, child. I've been waiting for this for so _long_, hoping."

He shook his head as if ashamed at himself.

"Look over your shoulder, slowly. Try not to turn. _Do not panic._"

That did not sound reassuring. Harry did as he asked. And they were there. Just like he dreamt, just like he imagined. They were huge, easily twice the size of his body. How? Two metal wings, seeming to merge with the skin on his back. He twitched his shoulders, could feel how they were attached. It was like suddenly having two extra arms and no idea how to make them move. How do you twitch fingers you've never had before?

"Harry." Mr. Steel breathed.

Harry turned and looked into the face of the older man, uncomprehending.

"How, sir? _Why? _I don't understand..." Harry rambled. He knew he was supposed to be panicking, he knew that he would when the shock wore off.

"_How?_"

Mr. Steel spoke quietly, calmly, his eyes seeming to communicate that everything would be alright.

"You're a _wizard_, Harry."


	5. Triumph is heard, but only by the few

**_Authors Note: Thanks to my beta A Mistake! (Edited: 4/8/13) Review Please! Tell me what you think!_**

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Excerpts from "Memorable Muggle Mornings: the Undercover Wizard."

_Today I walked down the street of a Muggle town. It's amazing how efficient they are. While we have a spell for everything, they have a 'tool' for everything. They have tools to fix things, tools to cook things, tools to make more tools! They have a contraption to mow their lawns more accurately than a cutting spell. They have these 'come-poot-errs' that can store the memory of a hundred books within a tiny box, accessible by merely pushing a button. _

_The inventions! Automatic light contained within glass bulbs, no spell required to light them. They have even found a way to make pictures move, called 'Video'...….Muggles have come farther than we have ever seen. Their tools rival our spells easily. Why is this not being talked about? Muggles are smart! Ingenious! No one seems to want to talk about how muggleborns are now statistically the smartest in the upcoming generation. They come to school with more book knowledge than most wizarding children, and learn much faster. Teachers even say they perform better in school settings..._

* * *

_**Two Days Previous**_

Rick was having a hard time. It was getting harder to stay interested in their 'mission'.

When he first joined the group, young and in a rough state, this place seemed like a God-send. The old man might be a little kooky with his crazy talk of witches and magic and potions, but it was a warm place to stay with free food. He could always leave any time. Somehow he began to believe in the odd technology of the wizards, and when he brought in his first real spell book he was ecstatic. Ecstatic enough to get a tattoo inked down his right shoulder. What a mistake!

Rick was ready to leave. He already knew a guy who wanted full-time help moving boxes. He would be sixteen soon, old enough to get a cheap apartment on the seedier side of town without being asked too many questions. How to tell the others though? He had grown fond of Tiny, and greatly respected Mr. Steel and Kerr. Mike wasn't much to miss with his bitter sarcastic attitude, and the new boy, Harry... he was too odd. Always bringing back the good stuff, never missing a hit. It made him jealous, it made him to be almost as petty as Mike at times, to his own surprise, and that wasn't someone he liked to be.

It was time to move on. Give up some space for another idealistic youngster to move in. He would talk to Mr. Steel in a few days, once everything was in place. Seriously, magic? Time to grow up.

* * *

"But... It's not real. None of it is real!"

The first outburst, oddly enough, came from Rick. The boy turned and ran up the steps, not looking anyone in the eye. Everyone could still hear him muttering upstairs as he stood in shock.

"It's not! I know it's not!"

"Mister. What is going on? Explain it to us. Explain it to _Harry_." Kerr spoke up, finally, as the seconds dragged on. His steady voice had pulled everyone else out of their shock and back to the present.

Kerr had seen the look on Harry's face, and squelched his own feelings of betrayal and fear. Harry was scared to death, shocked to find himself to be one of the monsters they had been seeking so avidly. Harry wasn't a monster. Harry was just a _boy_. A skinny, looking-to-please boy, who tried too hard sometimes and wouldn't hurt a fly. He hated wizards too!

"Sit down, all of you." Mr. Steel spoke up sternly, a smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Mike and Tiny sat right away, and for once the dark haired boy had nothing mean to say. Kerr tried to help Harry sit without his wings touching the furniture, but jerked his hand back with a quick grunt when a steel feather sliced his palm.

"Urgh…" he muttered, nursing his cut hand. Harry's eyes widened when he saw the blood dripping down, and he turned a shade paler than he was before.

"I'm so sorry! I am so, so sorry! I don't know what's going on, I don't..." Harry began to jabber in panic.

Kerr quickly, and gingerly, gave Harry a hug. It was awkward, trying to find how to hold the smaller boy without hitting the steel wings, but Kerr figured it out somehow with grit and determination. He could feel tension slowly leaving Harry at the gesture.

"It's alright, it's okay. It doesn't matter. We will figure this out. We all will. _Together_."

This last was said with a pointed look towards Mike, who said nothing. Mr. Steel cleared his throat and sat in his normal chair.

"I first had the idea some years ago..."

* * *

For some time now, Mr. Steel had known that the only true way to solve this conundrum of the wizarding world would be to go to a wizard himself. However, Steel had no way of knowing what wizard, if any, would bother with a normal person. They would probably just turn him in. An adult would, anyway... which led him to a thought.

There were wizarding children.

There had to be. It would explain the children's gifts, toys, candy they had found. It was getting harder and harder to see the wizards as being evil. It seemed they were human just like him, only wrapped up in a secret society with dubious motives and technology. And now, he was even beginning to doubt that. The books were too detailed, too diverse, some even too mundane, to be some secret code. The motives were all over the place, leading him to have no idea if there was a single, solitary purpose for wizards at all.

Instead, it seemed more and more that there was actual magic at work. Real, true magic! And apparently not just anyone could use it. Only people that met a specific criterion could. What those criteria were he had no idea, nor how to find it out. But he had pieced together some information from various newspaper articles and books.

Some wizards came from non-wizards. There was prejudice in the wizarding world against them, but they were still accepted. And these wizards were found as children, to be brought in and raised in wizarding society once they reached an acceptable age. Ten or eleven or twelve, he thought. And if he could find a child younger than that... a wizarding child, one who did not know the rules... the laws. The spells.

It might just work.

* * *

"Wait a minute! You took us in, in the off-chance that we might be _spies_ for you?" Mike spoke incredulously from the sofa. Tiny just looked lost.

Everything was finally beginning to sink in to Harry. He was a wizard. He wasn't evil. He was a wizard. He could do spells. He was a wizard. Wizards were real, had real magic. He was a wizard!

_He could do magic._

Harry ignored the argument heating up in the room. He felt a smile beginning to grow on his face. He wasn't a freak after all! All those odd things that always happened around him could be explained! He could learn to heal people, to make things move, he could learn to fly! He could do anything he wanted with the right word!

"I can do magic!"

Harry realized he had said it out loud when the argument in the room suddenly went quiet.

"Can he, Mr. Steel? Can he really do all those things we've read about?"

That was Tiny, finally speaking up. He looked like it had taken all his bravery to speak. Tiny still wouldn't look at Harry directly. Mr. Steel started to nod, and then stopped suddenly. It was as if a light switch was flipped. A serious look came over his face.

"Yes... and no. Those things must be learned, taught. They have a school for it. But, Harry..."

Mr. Steel ground to a halt. For the first time since the episode began, he looked haunted.

"That tattoo... it uses magic. I don't know much, but... because of it, there will be some things you cannot do. Maybe a lot of things. But it was the only way I knew of to know! To find out, before a child might be taken away!"

Mr. Steel looked pleadingly at Harry. Harry did not understand what he was trying to say. Mike broke in with a vicious look at both Harry and Mr. Steel.

"What he is trying to tell you, Skinny, is this wonderful magical tattoo is sucking up your magic. You might not have any left now. And the reason you have it is because of _him_."

Harry did not know what to say. Sorrow broke upon him before he even realized how happy he had been before. Something was being stolen from him he did not even know he had. And Mike looked so happy about it.

Mr. Steel looked torn, the full years of his age finally showing in the lines of his face. For once, everyone could see him as the old man that he is. "Harry, this was… this was for the best. It was never meant to be like this. I never even thought..."

When Kerr spoke up again, it was with a different conviction in his voice.

"Yeah, you didn't think it through. You didn't mean it to be this way, but it _is_. And you will help Harry fix it." He laid a hand on Mr. Steel's shoulder.

"We will see if he can do anything in those books, Mr. Steel. Might manage to do magic when the wings ain't out, or something. Truth is, we know _nothing_. Those wizards will come calling, though, we know that. In what… one to three years from now? Doesn't give Harry much time to get one up on them. And we will need to think of a plan. You wanted a spy to tell you about the wizards, well, now you got one." Kerr turned to Mr. Steel.

"What you going to do with him?" Kerr asked.

The question was a good one. Suddenly, all eyes were focused on Mr. Steel.

"I'm leaving."

The statement came from behind them. Rick stood there, holding a hastefully packed bag.

"I've got a place to stay, a job I can take. I won't say anything, I don't want anything to do with this. I'm done. _This never happened!_"

Rick forcefully belted out the last sentence, and then walked past them and out of the room. They heard a door open and close. Mr. Steel stood slowly.

"Anyone else want nothing to do with this business? I admit, the stakes have risen. We will be on the wizard's radar now, and we don't know when they might come for Harry, here. Now's the time to leave. I'll help you set up somewhere else. I'll give you money and a place to stay."

No one spoke. Finally, Mr. Steel let out a sigh.

"Let's sleep on it. Make your decision tomorrow. In the morning, we will hammer out a plan. Harry..."

Harry looked at Mr. Steel, feeling bereft.

"This is worth it. I know it is so." Mr. Steel assured him.

Harry might have believed him, if Mr. Steel had looked like he believed it himself.

* * *

_Daily __Prophet__ Special Evening Edition_

_Murder in Diagon Alley!_

By: _Thomas Hickle_

_One of the Daily Prophet's own columnists has been found the victim of a grisly murder! Anthony Olympton, the hitherto unknown author behind the increasingly popular "Mysterious Muggle Mornings" was found by upstanding witches of good report at the third hour in the afternoon, in the alley between Knockturn and Pennyluck. His body was in horrendous condition, spread eagle__d__ and strung upside down by his feet, hanging due to the dark torture ritual 'cruciare'. There have been no known reports of this ritual being performed since the height of 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's reign of terror. The murderer is still at large.__The__ Aurors assure__d__ us that they will keep us informed of any relevant leads they sustain to the killers whereabouts._

_There __are myriad motives for this dastardly crime. Popular opinion is that Olymptons writing had begun to annoy many prominent citizens of the wizarding world, including multiple members of the Wizengamot. Olympton's column was started almost exactly one year ago, when the wizard decided to go 'undercover' in the Muggle world. This experience was to last one year, during which the wizard would live as a Muggle and report back. This column gained popularity for its witty prose and funny encounters with clueless Muggles. However, most recently the column had become controversial due to its recently developed Pro-Muggle stance. Olympton himself had just visited the Ministry to begin lobbying for support to change what he considered 'blood-purist' laws that incriminate muggleborns and their parents. _

_Due to Olympton's various articles, Muggle awareness has been raised. Some wizards have begun to realize that Muggles may have something to offer Wizarding-kind. Others are even more concerned after reading of Muggle weapons and social policies. It is with little doubt that this author states that Olympton has left his mark on the wizarding community of Britain. For better or worse, only time can Daily Prophet will mourn the loss of a distinguished columnist. Funeral and service times will be posted __within a week__. _

* * *

When Harry entered his room after a tense and quiet moment, Tiny was waiting. The younger boy still would not meet his eyes, preferring to look at the floor.

"I'm going to move into Rick's room. You know, to give us more space. In the morning..."

Tiny's words seemed to fill the space between them. Harry could read between the lines. Tiny was afraid. At least, that's all he thought it was. Their friendship would never be the same.

"That's alright. I understand." Harry tried to smile.

Tiny nodded then climbed into bed and slipped under the covers. After a moment's hesitation, Harry turned and went back out of the room and into the common area. He turned the chair around and straddled the seat, leaving room for his wings. When he heard the shuffle of feet, he glanced up to see Kerr sitting down across from him.

The other boy had taken the news the best. Kerr never once seemed to doubt Harry's motives. He didn't seem to be waiting for Harry to jump up and start spelling the mess out of the room. Harry felt he was his one friend in this entire mess that had become his life. Right when things were going well, and Harry was being accepted, something had to come up and ruin it.

"We need to do something about those wings." Kerr's voice brought Harry out of his thoughts.

Harry tried to smile. "I'm not sure how to make them go away. Or if I can."

Kerr shook his head.

"I saw them come out. I saw them before, too. They were a perfectly good tattoo. I bet they can go back that way too. As it is, you can barely walk around the house with them out like that. And how on earth are you going to sleep?"

That last had been one of Harry's more pressing questions as the night wore on. The dratted things were _heavy _when Harry just leaned down, he could only imagine how they would feel if he was laying down. Not to mention the sharp feathers would cut the mess out of his bed and anything else they came into contact with. And what about pajamas?

"They aren't too heavy when I'm standing up straight, but they kind of pull at the skin when I lean over. And, well, the feathers are sharp. Well, you knew that. I kind of contemplated sleeping sitting up."

"Look, lets us try something. When the wings came out, you were upset. What were you thinking? They didn't just sprout out because you were upset, or they would of went away on their own. So I think, somehow, you called them out. And now you need to let them go."

Harry thought hard. He could remember feeling overwhelmed. The threats from Mike and the betrayal from Tiny and Kerr had been hard to face. He had just wanted to get away. No, he had wanted to _fly _away!

"I was thinking of flying!" Harry exclaimed with excitement. "I was thinking of flying right before they came out!"

Kerr gave a wild smile in response. He then stood up and gestured Harry to do so as well.

"Well, knowing that is half the battle I guess. Now, what is the opposite of flying? Perhaps you should think of walking. Or maybe running. Or maybe focus on the feeling of having your feet on the ground?"

Harry felt a little overwhelmed, but he nodded resolutely and closed his eyes firmly. He could do this. He focused on his wings and where they met his skin. The feathers brushed his back gently. One of the first things he had learned was that the razor sharp edges felt like fine velvet to his own hands. It seemed that his tattoo had a funny idea about what 'sharp' meant, and who it would apply to. Magic. It didn't seem to obey any laws of common sense.

Harry shook his head and tried to focus. _Okay, so there are my wings. Go away. Um, go back. Retreat! Vamoosh! Abra Kadabra!_

"Relax. I can see you tensing up from here." Kerr's voice was soothing.

Harry nodded quickly and brought his mind back to focus. He thought about his dream, of swooping through the sky. The freedom to soar over the world and its troubles. The strings of light. That must have been his magic! Harry thought hard about it, of the light that had flowed through his veins. As if opening a door, Harry was suddenly blinded by the light that moved through himself. It was everywhere!

The light pooled forth from his heart and streamed throughout his veins, running from head to toe, and out through his back into each and every feather. It seemed spread thin, not as prevalent as it had been. Harry suddenly realized that this was his magic, and that the tattoo was taking what would normally be spread out throughout himself and running it through his wings. The wings took up so, so much of the light. Harry almost wept as he remembered Mike's words earlier, about losing his magic because of the tattoo. How was he to bring the magic back inside himself?

All the books said wizards used wands to cast magic. They had to say specific words and make specific motions in order to make anything happen. Some few books went into more advanced theory, but Harry had never truly bothered to read them. He did, however, remember a few references to wandless magic. And the wand use did not explain Harry's own accidental magic when he was a child. He had made things happen without a wand. He could do this too.

Harry pulled at the light. Nothing happened. He tried to take a deep breath, could see the light flare ever so slightly, but when he let it out again the light went back to normal. No change. So breathing didn't do anything. The light followed his blood veins. So was there blood in his wings? No, that's irrelevant. His feet are on the floor. He does no need to fly. He doesn't want to fly. But he does! He wants to right now! Harry felt his wings ruffle, and let out a grunt of annoyance before opening his eyes and glaring at Kerr.

"It's not working! They don't want to go."

"Are you really trying? Do _you_ really want them to go?"

"Of course I do! And I am trying! It's just, it's hard!"

"So you can't do it because it's hard. I understand, it's okay. I probably couldn't do it either."

Harry wanted to scream. He knew what Kerr was doing. Reverse Psychology, as Rick liked to say. And it was working. Harry knew if the places were reversed, Kerr could do it. He could do anything. Harry was just a freak, and now a freak with wings. Cool-looking wings.

Harry gave Kerr a glare, and got a smile back in return. Then with an offended sniff, Harry closed his eyes, then on second thought, carefully sat down on the floor. He brought the light back up in his mind, and then tried to remember that first dream he had had, when he was lying on the table at the tattooist's place. He had stood before a mirror, admiring his wings. The light had been then just as it was now, spread out thin. Harry imagined himself reeling the light back in as he would reel up the water hose in Aunt's garden. Turn, pause, turn, pause, turn. The light faded first from the tines on the feathers, drawing itself back into the quills. Turn, pause, turn. He reeled the light into the hollow bones. Were the bones made of steel? At that random thought Harry lost his concentration and the light sprang back into the wings. Harry felt as if he had dropped a measuring tape that was fully distended, and the tape had snapped back super-fast into the ball it was rolled out of. ARGH!

The sound of clapping made Harry open his eyes. Kerr was grinning from ear to ear.

"You almost did it! The wings, they were getting smaller. Maybe drawing in, a little bit. Like, slow motion. Try again!"

Harry didn't say anything. He felt a little out of breath. With a sigh, he closed his eyes again. Okay, so the water hose analogy worked a little bit. What else could be reeled in? An anchor, a fishing line. A parachute, no that gets unfurled. Wrong direction. Harry tried to think. A kite. Yes. His wings were a kite he had let loose to fly, but now it was time to go home again. The kite had to be put away. You can not fly kites inside. His heart was a reel, the light the string, and his wings the kite. It was time to reel it in. Mentally, Harry pictured the light looping back into his body. Bit by bit, the light coiled around the pool of his heart.

It went much faster this time, the light drawing into the quills, then the bones, then his back. The wings seemed to now be made wholly of light, getting smaller and smaller. His heart felt so full, ready to burst. He was full of energy, he could run a marathon! Suddenly Harry saw something else happening. It was not just the light in the wings being reeled in. All the light in his body was wrapping around and around his heart. Would he, too, disappear? With this wild thought terror ran through him, and Harry tried to jump up only to get tangled in his feet and fall flat on his face. He looked up to the sound of laughter.

Kerr was doubled over, face bright red.

"That was so funny! You sit up, and lunge, and your feet are crossed, and now you look like a broken baby doll!"

That last brought on new gales of laughter. Harry tried to get angry, but couldn't. He felt himself starting to laugh too as he carefully untangled himself and stood up. The weight on his back sobered him up though. The wings were still present. What had he done wrong? Kerr noticed the look on his face.

"They were gone, Harry. I mean, like, completely gone. But right before you lunged, they just snapped back out. _Whoosh._"

Harry sighed as he tried to find words for it. Everything was just so confusing. "I got scared. I felt like I was, I don't know, about to burst open. It wasn't just my wings being pulled in, but my whole body. It's hard to explain. I don't think I _can_ explain. "

"Its okay. Why don't you try again. Third time's the charm!" Kerr said, his smile didn't falter the slightest.

Kerr's cheery face and words helped steady his racing heart. He could do this. He _had_ to do this. He had no choice. He couldn't go around with wings everywhere! He couldn't leave this building until he had this under control. And he was tried, and he wanted to sleep. And he wanted to be able to do magic. He would reel in the magic in his wings, and wrap it up in his heart. And if the rest of the magic in his body wanted to go there, well, what harm could it do? He would jump that hurdle when he got to it.

This was his magic, and he would make it do what he wanted it to do!

Harry grabbed ahold of his mental reel again, and began to spin it faster and faster. The light seemed to flow out of his wings like water now, getting smaller and smaller even as the light got brighter and brighter in his body. With a final heavy pull, sweat beginning to fall down his face, all the light was inside his chest. His felt lighter, his chest full. He stood up in one fluid motion, as if he was moving through water. The magic inside him seemed to thrum before it settled. With a lazy sway Harry opened his eyes slowly, feeling like gravity was no longer holding him down.

"Wow."

Kerr's quiet word brought Harry's eyes to his face. Kerr looked shocked. Harry tried to smile, but the emotion just was not there. He felt so peaceful. As if with a mere wave of his hand, he could change the world. Maybe he _could._

"Look, you did it, Harry! You did it..."

Kerr's words drifted off as Harry failed to respond. It was so hard to find words to speak. He was too full, too full of magic. He had to get rid of it, somehow. Had to spread it out so he would have room to think and feel again. He closed his eyes, and was almost blinded by the light coming from his chest. It was like a star, like the sun! Harry grasped at any idea, any way to tamper down on that light. It was as if he was the sun, the brightest star of all. It was bright because it was so close to the earth. He needed to move it farther away. He needed to... make other stars. But where? His mind sluggishly tried to think. He became aware of hands moving him, lifting him up, and when had he fallen, anyhow?

Harry latched back onto the one idea that had seemed to run through his mind. Stars. The magic was like the sun, because it was one and so big and so together, and it was meant to be spread out. How on earth does he spread it out? Time seemed to have stopped completely as Harry watched the magic slowly pulse. He tried to remember how the night sky looked. The dotting of lights that spread across the sky, some bright, some dull. The moon that reflected light back from the sun. None of this was helping!

Harry felt a sense of urgency come upon him. Somehow he knew that he was running out of time. He desperately grabbed at the light with his mind, and pulled away a mass of stringy lights and shoved them in the first place he thought of: his hands. Almost immediately he began to feel better. The sense of urgency faded, and he was aware that his entire body was stiff. As if he had been laying stock still for _hours_. Harry stepped back from his body, observing the light. Now the sun in his chest shone a bit dimmer, and in both hands small blots of light shone. They were all connected by a strand of spider-thin light. Okay, what next? His head! Harry grabbed another time, this time trying to pull even more away. He gently put this light right in the center of his forehead.

As he did, he noticed something else. Right where his scar should be, there was a hole! Or something like it. He held his magic back from it, confused. It wasn't like a real hole, like one in the ground. More, it was like the absence of light completely. It absorbed magic at a slow pace, the same way a black hole in space absorbed light. At that thought, Harry jerked his magic back from it and tried to think of somewhere else to put it. He wanted none of it near that black hole!

It was too bad he couldn't set some aside specifically for his wings. Harry thought back to that dream once again, and remembered how at the end the light-wings had curled around his heart, resembling a winged ball. Like in that game the wizards like to play. Quid something or other. But could Harry make that? The light seemed to want to coalesce into a round object every time it was released. Harry then had a thought, and knew he could make it work. He would put the magic in the tattoo! It would connect itself automatically to the main light.

He gently, evenly, let the light stream and dot into the elegant lines of the tattoo. The light adhered to it the way it had to his hands, following every line and curve. Before Harry knew it, the light really did resemble light wings spread across his back as it had in the dream. The feeling of being full now receded completely. Harry gave a last look at his body. It was much different than the way it started.

Only his chest, hands, and back glowed with light. All the other places were very dim, and the darkest spot being his head. He hoped this wouldn't make anything weird happen! But it was the best he could do. Already he felt exhaustion coming upon him. Sleep was pulling him down fast. Harry spared one last fuzzy thought: The night sky had never looked so beautiful.


	6. Some, to busy in their wordly games,

**Authors Note: This is a little insight to what is going on elsewhere. An Interlude, if you will, from the main story line. Just cause I like to keep y'all in suspense a little longer, of course! **_**muahahahahaha! Thanks to my beta, A Mistake!**_

* * *

It was perhaps the most disturbing scene the man had walked in on since the darkest months of the war. The old man, dressed in a garishly blue night robe, sat slumped at his desk. In his wrinkled hands he held the shattered pieces of what once was a prominent instrument on his desk. His voice did not seem to belong to one of the self-assured leaders of the wizarding world. It was barely above a whisper.

"I've failed. I've failed, Severus."

The newly-arrived visitor, Severus, closed his eyes for a moment, making sure his expression did not betray the pain he felt. The words had hit too close to his heart. He walked into the room, softly closing the door behind him. With a trembling hand he sat in one of the two chairs positioned in front of the desk. For a short while he said nothing as he tried to organize his thoughts.

"Can we be sure? Is there not some other reason...?"Severus asked. His voice, too, lacked conviction.

"What else? This is tied directly into his magic. Nothing short of an extreme accidental magic event, brought on by a life or death situation, could have caused the anomalies it experienced leading up to the failure. And to break, no, _explode_..."

The old man lowered his head to one hand, tears beginning to fall from underneath the rim of his wide glasses.

"I place the blame only on myself. I made the decisions. For the greater good! For _his_ greater good. I'm getting old, Severus, too old. Once the public knows, I will be the one to take the fall. I went against the wishes of the parents, I did not put enough precautions in place... but who could have possibly _foreseen_?"

"Lily. Lily could foresee it. She knew her sister. She knew the boy should not go to _that house_." Severus cut in. He could not care much if his words were salt on a fresh wound.

Severus couldn't help answering that question. He was in turmoil himself, the unpaid life debt aching in his chest. For what was left of the wonderful, bright girl, to perish so early in his life. It was hard to pity the older man in the face of his own grief, the weight of it pressing down on his shoulders. The stark reminder of the shattered monitoring device only brought on his ire.

"None of us agreed to this!" Severus snapped. "No, we downright argued with you! We said..."

He stopped as the old man began to shake his head in a slow, steady rhythm.

"I know._ I_ _know._"

The quiet words put a halt to the argument before it could truly heat up. How had it come to this?

* * *

_**~Around A Year Earlier~**_

When Dumbledore invited Mrs. Figg over for their yearly tea over at his office, he was not expecting anything particularly earth shattering. Perhaps some more news of how much Harry was growing, how the kneazles were being mischievous, how the neighborhood was doing this or that or the other.

Arabella Figg, a reputable kneazle breeder and squib, had been a part of Dumbledore's wartime vigilante resistance group, the Order of the Phoenix. When young Harry Potter was to be dropped off to live with relatives in the middle of Surrey, she was the most natural pick to live nearby and keep an eye on things. Things had gone well the last few years, though she reported that Harry was not particularly bright academically, and did not get out of the house much. Harry also seemed to have an avid interest in gardening, which Dumbledore found interesting, as none of his parents or grandparents had had that inclination.

They met once or twice a year for tea and conversation. Mrs. Figg did like to talk.

Dumbledore helped Mrs. Figg from the fireplace as its green flames dimmed, leading her over to a comfy plush chair. After the usual greetings and how-are-you-do's, he poured some tea in a small saucer.

"Sugar?"

"Oh, you know not!"

Mrs. Figg smiled at the customary question and her own answer. It was always the same with that Dumbledore and his sweets!

For a short while they covered the weather and the kneazles and the latest sock in Dumbledore's collection. Then a serious look came over Mrs. Figg's face. The scolding question she asked next would be the start of many long days searching, and longer nights questioning.

"Why did you not tell me you had placed Harry with other relatives? I can understand country life is good for a child and he did not have many friends in Surrey, but still. I could've used a little notice. I mean, to come home one day and find... Dumbledore? What's wrong?"

Mrs. Figg noticed that Dumbledore had gone stark white. He slowly put down his tea, all joviality gone. It suddenly occurred to her that she had made a mistake in assuming Dumbledore was behind the move. His voice broke the silence

"Tell me everything."

She did.

* * *

Arabella Figg had noticed the last week that she had not seen Harry at all. His usual gardening was undone, and she had not seen him leave for school either. Finally, thinking that perhaps he had come down with a severe stomach bug, she contrived an excuse to knock on the door of Number Four, Privet Drive.

Petunia Dursley opened the door with a sickly sweet smile.

"What can I do for you, Arabella?"

"Oh, Petunia, I have been most unwell of late. I was just coming over to let you know that I will not be able to watch young Harry for the next few days, _at least_."

Arabella tried to smile as she carefully glanced around the thin woman to catch a glimpse inside the house. Petunia shifter her weight, her smile brightening.

"Oh, that is no problem, no problem at all. In fact, just recently we were informed of some relatives in the country who wished to take young Harry in! Most marvelous, really. Harry will have a much more fun time with his other cousins his age, and the whole countryside to explore. Why, Dudley himself would probably love to go visit them sometime."

Arabella's forehead furrowed slightly at the words, and Petunia didn't look her in the eye. Mrs. Dursley did not look exactly sure of that last statement. For a second Arabella wondered what Dumbledore was up to, for she had not known of any other relatives. However, it would do that child a lot of good to be made to get out of the house and playing outside. Not to mention that round Dudley boy looked downright mean on the best of days. Arabella made up her mind as she said polite goodbyes and walked slowly back to her own house. Harry would be just fine, if not better, in the country.

She would give Dumbledore a piece of her mind next time she saw him, however! He should've at least sent her a letter with the good news!

* * *

"That is all you know? Relatives in the country? And not seen since?"

Mrs. Figg nodded. Dumbledore abruptly stood.

"I'm sorry to cut our tea short, but this is most urgent news. I will owl you what I find out."

It was an obvious dismissal. Mrs. Figg stood and ambled over to the fireplace. As she threw the floo powder in and spoke her destination, she glanced back on last time at Dumbledore. He was gently taking a glowing blue instrument off his shelf and placing it gently in the middle of his desk.

* * *

Dumbledore had one obvious choice of who best to look into the situation as he scribbled off a brisk note.

_Come to my office immediately. Urgent. _

_-Dumbledore._

He went to Fawkes and gave him the note."Go to Severus, Fawkes. Quickly."

When he quickly walked into the office barely ten minutes later, Dumbledore wasted no time and got right to the point.

"Harry is missing, Severus. Mrs. Figg thought I was behind the disappearance. I need you to immediately go to Surrey and investigate with your... particular skills. Whatever is necessary."

The dark haired man spared a second on shock before he cleared his mind and began to set his thoughts on what he needed to know.

"Any details?"

"His Aunt informed Arabella that Harry was sent to relatives in the country. That is all we know. It happened, perhaps, a month or so ago." Dumbledore answered quickly.

Severus nodded, his mind already at work.

"And if he is truly at these relatives? Will he be safe to stay there?"

"I know of no other blood relatives to Lily, and that is required for the protection spell to work. Harry must be brought back to the Dursley's. Immediately. Already, the protections will be fading. It is only a matter of time before the boy is found by wizarding folk. He is too noticeable, and does not know to hide. He knows _nothing_, Severus. I would like to keep it that way, if at all possible."

For a second, Severus considered argument. They had been over this many times before, however. He knew it was pointless. He looked at Dumbledore's stern form, and asked one last question.

"And if the Dursleys will not take him back? I cannot think they want him if they gave him away so freely."

"They will have no choice in the matter. They know better than to protest."

The older man's voice brooked no argument. Severus did not bother with goodbyes before he turned and left the room. Dumbledore wanted haste, and he had said to do _anything_ necessary. It had been a long while since the old man had asked for such things. He hoped it was not a sign of things to come.

With a crack of Apparition, Severus disappeared from outside the school grounds.

* * *

When Petunia opened the door she was met with dark eyes. All she got was the impression of dark hair and darker robes before she tried to back up, to escape those dark, dark eyes she found it impossible to look away from. The door slammed shut. She fell into darkness.

* * *

Petunia was still cleaning the kitchen when Vernon walked in that fateful day.

"Pet, sit down. We need to talk about... all this."

Vernon spoke heavily. The anger still boiled under his surface, but now he mostly grimly determined. Petunia sat at the kitchen table, and Vernon sat across from her, before reaching forward and taking her hands.

"I know how you feel about your sister's son. I know you are too tenderhearted to give him up, and I know that... letter... frightened you. But I have a solution. It said relatives, right? Well, why not my relatives? In the country? They never could have children of their own; the boy can help out much better there. He will be appreciated, and he won't have as much ability to do harm. Not enough time to get into trouble!"

Vernon spoke earnestly, looking deep into her eyes. Petunia quaked inside. The dratted boy was so much like her sister. Good Lily, Great Lily, Sweet Lily. Such beautiful green eyes, Lily, such pretty hair, so smart. She had_ hated _growing up with such a perfect sister! One she could not even justify hating, the girl had been so _freaking nice_. And that's what she turned out to be, a freak, a dreadful little freak. With her perfect school, her perfect friends, and her perfect husband. Her perfect little son. A son who wanted to please everyone so badly, just like his mother. _She hated him._

Petunia had never heard of Vernon having relatives in the country. She did not question him. What was there to gain? She would tell herself Harry was better off there. She would do anything to get the evil reminder of her childhood out of her house.

At her nod Vernon almost turned giddy with excitement.

* * *

Petunia came back to herself sitting on the couch in her living room. The sun had moved further down the sky. She found herself facing the door, her eyes locked on it. She couldn't move or speak. Her eyes frantically moved about the room, and as if on cue a dark shadow moved. Dark robes, hooded.

My God, the letter was right. They had been found. With Harry no longer with blood relatives, the protections must have failed. She had always thought, deep down, that the threatening letter was just a hoax, a sham to make them keep the boy. To love him so that they in turn would be protected. What a crock! This entire thing was the boys fault! They should've gotten rid of him sooner! She should have listened to Vernon from the beginning... Vernon. He would be home from work soon. She had to warn him! She had to... but she couldn't. She was trapped under some spell.

Her eyes locked on the door again. Oh, Vernon. What had they done?

* * *

Severus watched the still form of Lily's sister, her thoughts bubbling out in every direction frantically. The woman had been of very little help, and her poisonous thoughts still lingered in his mind. He had never known just how much hate she held for her sister. _Or perhaps it had merely grown with time_, he thought to himself, _constant__ly reminded of her bitter past by Harry's presence, by a situation she felt was outside her control__._

And of course, there was _Harry_.

Harry, little Harry Potter, who was surprisingly so much like Lily! Severus was not sure he ever would have seen it before, but looking through the mind of Petunia had been eye opening in more than one way. Severus would never be able to see Harry as merely James's son again. He had to find him. And if he found out that these relatives had laid a single finger on the boy... he heard a car door slam and heavy footsteps. It was time.

* * *

Vernon was looking forward to a good snack. It had been a long day at work, and an even longer commute. His new job had him driving farther and farther, but it was worth the pay. He hoped to be promoted again soon, as he was in good with his boss. His thoughts revolved around work as he opened the door, and saw Petunia sitting still and straight on the couch, looking straight into his eyes.

"Pet? What's...?"

He didn't get to complete the sentence. A dark red spell caught him in the side, and his body froze up. He couldn't move or speak. Frantic thoughts ran through his mind. A robed man strode around from beside him, dark eyes focused on his.

"This shouldn't take long."

The softly spoken words were ominous. Vernon lost himself in his memories.

* * *

He had convinced Petunia! She had caved without even an argument, which told him that she had been hoping for him to do this all along. She did not even question him about his mysterious country relatives. Well, no matter. The dratted boy would be out of their hair soon enough.

What a freak! Magic! Such a silly word. He would be glad to get it out of his house for good. The boy had been nothing but trouble, a drain on their lives, their finances, and now even their health! Poor Dudley could have had a heart attack! And Petunia... well, no matter. The boy would be gone for good now.

Not that he had any intention of bringing him to any relatives in the country. No, London should be just fine. Middle of downtown, even better! Rage came upon him, knocking him out of his thoughts as a murderous presence became known to him. More memories flashed by, faster than he could live them.

Vernon ordering the appliances. Thanking the workers. Making the freak clean up. Taking the freak by the hand. The freaks little questions. Pointing into the oversized box.

_"Hurry up freak, before I whip you first!"_

Those green eyes staring up at him as he closed the box and taped it quickly.

Such murderous rage! It washed over his thoughts like a flood, even as it washed up more memories and left a sickly taint behind.

Vernon getting the neighbor to help put Harry in the car. Driving through London. Whistling a happy tune. Happy, happy, _furious!_

Dropping the box in a little back alley, looking dark and infrequently used. A flash of a road sign as he got back into his car. He hoped the freak was never found. He hoped he _died._

Vernon was scarcely aware of the outside world when he came back to himself. His thoughts were fuzzy, mixed up, incoherent. He couldn't think. His mind felt torn into pieces. He was only vaguely aware of the next word he heard before his mind once more dissolved, but this time into a screaming agony of pain.

_"Crucio!"_

* * *

"I am not proud. I also do not regret it."

_The man looked proud_, Dumbledore thought to himself, _regardless of his words_. Severus sat up straight, his chin raised, his face pale. He also looked scared to death. That his first words to him had been those worried him. What was going on?

"What happened, Severus? Where is Harry?"

"Where? _Where?_ Who knows? Those sick, _twisted,_ Muggles have _abandoned_ him! Abandoned him to _die_, Albus. They hated him. They made his life miserable! They are the worst sort of human beings, if they are human at all! To treat Lily's son that way!"

Severus ended his rant, out of breath, his chest heaving. The man looked ready to fall apart by the second. Dumbledore was shocked. He had hoped, with the talk of relatives, that Harry was unharmed. Merely misplaced. Easily returned. What had Severus found? The man looked in no state to give details. He met Severus's eyes, and waited just a second. The man's nod was all he needed. He slipped into his mind with the skill of a master. Severus was good at what he did, but Dumbledore was great.

When he finally looked away, he felt sick. Only the calm, glowing blue of the talisman on his desk settled his heart. Harry was still alive, and still well. He just needed to be found. Severus was slumped in his chair now, looking bleak. The man had used an Unforgivable. More than once. What he had done in the heat of his anger was punishable by death. Should be punished. But Dumbledore would not be that one. He would turn a blind eye, as he had done many, many times before. So many dark nights, so many dark times. But they would need _everyone_ if they were to find Harry.

He needed the Order of the Phoenix. It could not get to the public that Harry was missing. Dark wizards might, and probably would, take advantage of the situation. Harry could be found by the wrong sort. He needed stealth, and to be quick. His group was the obvious answer.

Dumbledore stood and walked over to Fawkes's glowing red form.

"You know what to do, Fawkes. Summon them here."

Fawkes nodded, and with a flash of flame disappeared.

Dumbledore tried to find some piece of comfort within him to give to Severus, but could not. He would not rest until the boy was found._ Harry _had to be found. The wizarding world depended on it.

* * *

A dark skinned man casually left the police station. It had only taken a week to thoroughly search every station in London. Muggle's were quick to explain away anything odd, and an easy memory charm had sufficed on all other occasions. No sign of the boy.

Kingsley had left another notice to be on the lookout for a young runaway. Perhaps it would be enough.

* * *

Minerva cursed to herself in a decidedly Scottish manner. _That old coot!_ She had told him! She had!

Her stomping steps carried her out of yet another orphanage. Harry was in none of them. It was as if the boy had disappeared from the face of the earth! Or maybe merely from London. There were no adoption papers for a boy his age and description either. Minerva cursed again, before with a crack of apparition she disappeared from the street.

* * *

Remus rubbed his eyes with one hand. He was so tired. Only a few days after the Full Moon, and to be hit with the news that his best friends son was abandoned on the streets of London. As one of the only members with intimate knowledge of Muggle lifestyles, not to mention the ability to use a computer, he had been the obvious choice to search both the streets and the internet for Harry's whereabouts. And nothing had been found. Where was the boy? Did he never go outside? Not that a crowded city was the best place for a werewolf to sniff around. Too many other sights and smells and sounds.

Remus shook his head, and then refocused his attention on the computer screen in front of him.

He had to find something. _He had to!_ For James sake, if not his own.

* * *

The third meeting the Order of the Phoenix had after Harry's disappearance was a decidedly depressing affair. No leads. No hints. Not even a sniff! Every public office had been searched, almost every street, and nothing. Harry was either staying indoors, or had left London completely. Dumbledore's instrument proved he was alive, at least.

"Dumbledore... do you not think we have done enough? There is nowhere left to search. The boy, he must be gone. We know he's healthy, being taken care of. Why not let the letter do our work?"

This came from an older woman in the back. Mrs. Longbottom was getting on in years, but her mind was still going strong. She wasn't afraid to say what everyone else was thinking.

"Absolutely not! That would be two years from now, at least. Anything could happen!"

Severus abrupt outburst was expected. It had been a shock at the first meeting for him to display any sort of affection for the son of his worst childhood rival, but by now it was old news. Augusta Longbottom's idea had been brought up in the very first meeting, as a last ditch option. The Acceptance Letter for all wizarding and Muggleborn children would go out their eleventh birthday before the start of term. It relied on a magic that could not be tampered with, and was impervious to outside reading. Names and addresses would only become visible once the letter was to be sent out.

Unfortunately for Harry and them, his eleventh birthday would come only a month before term started. Not much time to prepare, and a long wait to find out his location. Was there not another option?

Dumbledore sat heavily in his chair.

"I'm afraid you are right, Augusta."

He waved his arm, interrupting Severus before he could go off on another rant.

"The Order is now disbanded once more. I will assign two members to keep tabs on London. I will notify you all of anything that comes up. Keep your eyes and ear open. Dismissed."

At the last word, Dumbledore stood and walked from the room. He ignored the raised voices he left behind him. There was nothing more to do. No stone left unturned. It was now a waiting game. Remus would continue searching the Muggle world, and Severus would keep an eye on the wizarding side of things. It was all he could hope for, that one day the boy would turn up on his own.

_Oh, Harry. I have wronged you so._

* * *

It was only a year later, and a year and a half before Harry's eleventh birthday that the instrument began to act erratic. He had woken in the night to the flashes of light. When he quickly went into his office, what he saw was the normally constant glow of the monitoring device changing. It flickered, back and forth. Something was wrong. He quickly summoned Severus, but as soon as he got there the device had gone back to a steady glow. He shook his head and explained to Severus, then dismissed the man back to bed. The next few hours he kept his eyes locked on the device.

It had been something he had made just after Harry had been placed at the Dursleys. It had required a few drops of blood to become active, focused on a particular magical signature. It was a round orb, transparent and smoky. Much like a gypsy ball, he supposed. A normal glass ball, until it was infused with magic and blood.

The life is in the blood. That idea had long permeated different religions and cults throughout the world, and it was no less true in science. Without blood, living creatures would die. Blood carried about the body the means of life. Oxygen and nutrients were delivered to cells, and waste taken away. Magic was no different. It flowed through a wizard's body as naturally as breathing. In fact, it was a topic that many a wizard had studied, including Dumbledore himself in relation to Dragon blood. As the wizard breathed in, and oxygen began to flow through the body, a wizard's heart converted this to magic. And from the heart pumped all the magic throughout the body.

A wand would help focus that magic in a particular hand of their choice. Even a staff or other magical object would suffice as a focus. A wizard, with much practice and patience, could even use the focused magic in a hand to create a variation of wandless magic. It was a rare feat, one that few wizards would even bother with. Too much effort was required to move magic about the body. Dumbledore had even researched various Asian tribes, who learned to focus magic through the soles of their feet.

Magic that was expended would gradually filter back into the body as the wizard breathed. The magic in the blood also helped keep wizards from getting sick. So many benefits from magic. This device worked by monitoring Harry's magical level. The glow would be brightest when Harry was saturated with magic, and dimmest as the magic was at its lowest point. For the device to die completely would mean Harry's magic was also gone completely. A wizard whose magic was completely lost was not breathing. They were dead. Harry must be performing some extraordinary feat of magic, based on the level of fluctuation involved. What was odd was for it to flash at all. Usually, the device would go dim in spurts, and then gradually get brighter as magic returned.

How would Harry be losing magic, then gaining it back immediately? It practically stank of some form of dark ritual. A blood ritual perhaps? Then a replenishing potion? Where exactly was Harry at, to have access to such things? Was he already in the hands of their enemy?

He did not know what to think. Finally, as morning crept into the room, he wearily stumbled back to bed. When he rose some hours later, the device still looked fine. He went down to the Great Hall for lunch. Severus gave him an inquiring look, to which Dumbledore shook his head with a reassuring smile. They would meet later tonight to discuss the possibilities. For now, another day at school.

When Dumbledore returned to his office after dinner, it was to a sight that made his heart stop. The device was barely glowing at all. He rushed over, collapsing in his chair as he pulled it to him. The glowing transparent ball was so dim the light could barely be seen at all. The old wizard's heart was pounding a mile a minute. For almost an hour he sat, afraid to take his eyes off it. There was no change, not even the gradual increase he was expecting to take place. What had Harry done?

A chilling realisation gripped his heart not long after that.

Or more frighteningly, _what had been __done to him?_

When the flash came, it was so bright that Dumbledore was blinded for a few seconds. As quick as it came it vanished. Dumbledore was shocked for a second. What in Merlin's name? He leaned back, blinking his eyes quickly. His mind, usually throwing millions of scenarios to play, could not think of one to cause such a reaction. No spell could, no ritual could, not that he knew of...

The next flash was just as staggering, and for a second a high pitched whine emitted from the device. Dumbledore was at his wits end. The amount of magic... it was almost like the flash was showing Harry's magic at a level ten times what it should be! It was much too much for the device to monitor. The monitor was meant to gradually increase as the child grew older and his own magic grew with him. His magic would keep getting stronger until he reached his magical maturity, at age 15. After that, only major milestones, inheritances, and magical rituals could increase the amount of magic at a wizards disposal. For an increase like that, the monitor would break, unable to keep up with the sudden expansion.

It was an unlucky thought. No sooner had it passed through his mind then a final, blinding flash illuminated his office. The whine was now a roar, and the walls rattled. There were several crashing noises, and Dumbledore could feel the instrument heating up under his fingers. He quickly pushed away from his desk, and no sooner had he done so than a resounding, splintering crash echoed in his ears. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the decreased light, he could see the instrument in many shattered pieces across his desk.

He had failed.

There would be no making another device. No blood to tie it to. Their last monitor to Harry's well-being was gone. Who knows if Harry had survived such a magical onslaught? The stress it would put on the body... and Dumbledore had no idea what could of brought it on.

_He had failed._

That thought ran over and over through his mind. When Severus entered, they were the first words he said. Their truth echoed in his soul.

* * *

"I am not going to inform the public. About his disappearance, about what we know, none of it. I don't want you telling anyone of this, either. The Order does not need to know."

"How can you say that? Don't they deserve to know they can stop looking now? That their savior might be _dead_?"

"The truth is, we do not know. We know _nothing_. Harry might have survived. Only the school roster will tell us now."

Severus leaned back at that, glancing over at a open book on a pedestal. Names had already appeared there for the next semester. This did not calm the younger wizard, however, and it did not surprise Dumbledore. The man's trust in him had been shaken ever since Harry's disappearance.

"And if he does not get a letter? If he does, and does not show up? If he is moved before we can find him?" Severus asked.

"All things we will deal with in time. Make plans, Severus. The Order must be ready to move as soon as he turns eleven. If..._ once_ the name appears, we may only have moments to grab him. If he is with another wizard, which seems to be the case, they will know that we are looking. One thing is on our side. The letters will keep getting sent until they are read by the intended. If Harry does not see his letter, we can keep track of him. Not many know of this phenomenon. It was meant as a safeguard from overzealous or doubting Muggle parents."

Severus merely nodded. His face was bleak.

"What are the chances, Albus? What is the hope?"

"There is always hope, my boy. And if, when, we find young Harry, we will never lose track of him again. I will not fail a second time."

Dumbledore's words echoed in the silent room. His hands tightened around the fragments left of the orb.

He made himself that silent vow.

_He would not fail again._

* * *

****NOTE**:** dont want yall to be confused. Harry is nine and a half years old when he gets his tattoo. Not sure if that was clear. He has been with Steel since he was a little older than eight. He is a child, and children are foolish, trusting little things. **


	7. To notice the brightest light

_**Author's Note: Edited 4/29/13, thanks to my awesome beta A Mistake!**_

* * *

_"Words strain,__  
__Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,__  
__Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,__  
__Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,__  
__Will not stay still."_

_-T.S. Elliot_

* * *

When Harry groggily opened his eyes that morning, it took him awhile to focus his thoughts. Everything seemed hazy... oh. He reached across and fumbled on his glasses, before sitting up. Only then did it hit him that he had been laying on his back! This meant... the wings were still gone. Or at least, inside.

Harry stood up and pulled on his clothes. He felt tired, as if his body had done hard exercise the day before. But he also felt refreshed. Everything felt and looked new. He was a wizard! Today was his first whole day knowing that fact. With only a glance out the window to catalogue the time of day (late morning), he began to head downstairs.

Silence descended when he entered the dining room and Harry unconsciously hunched his shoulders to make himself look smaller, less noticeable as his heartbeat picked up in rate. It was a habit borne out of years trying to keep his cousin and his gang from playing Harry-hunting. Kerr smiled at him, and the slightly worried looks the others had been sporting disappeared. Harry gave him a weak smile in return.

"I'm glad to see you are alright. We weren't sure, you know, at first." Kerr said.

Harry shuffled his feet. "What happened? I don't remember much, after that third time..."

"You made your wings disappear. Completely. However, you were really out of it for a while there. You didn't hear a word I was saying, and then you just closed your eyes and folded to the floor. Well, more like, I don't know,_ floated._ It was really weird."

Harry made a noncommittal sound, his gaze drifting back towards his feet. He was still not quite used to the weight of so many eyes upon him. He glanced over the food left on the table, suddenly starving, and glanced at the others uncertainly. Mr. Steel gestured forward with a smile, before nodding to himself and beginning to speak.

"While you dig in, there, Harry, I'm going to speak. Once I'm done, you all can ask questions."

He waited a second for any comments, but the only sound was the soft slideof the chair that Harry pulled, and later on the faintest scrape of fork on plate. Harry had always been a quiet one, but it was pronounced now. The others had nothing to say, yet.

"Kerr was right, last night. The wizards will be back for Harry, to take him to some school of training. They do not let magic-affiliated humans wander free. This seems to take place on the birthday of the young child that occurs before the start of a school term. The exact birthday, however, I do not know. It could be ten, or eleven, or twelve. With that in mind, we need to get prepared. Harry himself needs to learn as much as he can... I will help him in this area. The rest of you will begin a plan of defense. I am not sure how prospective students are contacted. Letters would probably be more common... but surely someone will also come and visit. We must be prepared for this."

Mr. Steel looked around at all of them, pausing for a second, before continuing.

"We will need to relocate."

Surprised sounds begin to bubble forth, with Harry only contributing with a curious glance and nothing more, but Mr. Steel did not pause.

"It is too crowded here, in the city. This suited our purposes before, but now it has changed. Harry must have some freedom to go outside, away from people. Once he has his... problem, under control... we will be moving to the country. I have a small house out there... we shall not be noticed. We will go over the details later. I know this is hard to understand, but everything we have been working for is beginning to bear fruit. Harry will be able to infiltrate this society, easily. He will have access to wizarding materials at any time. However, we have never been sure what the motives of this group are. If they are violent towards us... we must be prepared. I have seen signs of... well."

He paused. Everyone was watching him with rapt attention. When he spoke again, his expression was grim.

"Many wizards _do not_ like normal people. They have _words_ for us. They even have derogatory words for Harry here, because his parents were not wizards. I do not know how we will be received, or what the... attitude... is towards the normal family of a wizarding child. We must prepare, quickly. They could come in just half a year."

Kerr and Mike began talking excitedly, all at once. They talked of things they could do, things they couldn't do. Tiny just sat there, lost. Harry had a feeling they were all a little lost, even Mr. Steel. Out of their depth.

* * *

Harry looked across the room and met the smiling eyes of Mr. Steel. He took a deep breath.

"Again, Harry. Let's work on speed."

Harry concentrated, barely closing his eyes before the wings again burst from his back. The itch, always there, would turn into a slow burn then a short burst of agony as the wings ripped forth.

It was just a week from the time he had collapsed. Now, Harry could bring the wings in and out like it was second nature. It had been hard at first, but never like the first time. He did not have to concentrate on the magic flowing through his body or wings. Instead, a force of will and a thought, and the magic responded. It was glorious.

They had been working all week on finding out the possibilities of the wings, as well as the limitations. It had been harder at first, and more tiring. But it was as if every time he spread his wings, so to speak, the action became easier. Like working a muscle, which grew stronger over time.

Harry could bring the wings forth, and call them back. He could not make them smaller, despite an entire day dedicated to the task. He could make them soft as satin, and hard as steel. He could not change their color. Together he and Mr. Steel had gone through a veritable checklist of the possibilities. He could pull out a feather, but it hurt like hell. The feather would disappear once his wings were drawn back into his body. A feather, once plucked, could cut through solid rock, or be as soft as... well, a feather. Harry smiled to himself. He couldn't wait to truly stretch his wings, out in the open. To try to fly! It was the only things they had left to test, really. He could barely contain his excitement.

"Stand on the scale, Harry... okay. Now, step off. Draw them in. Yes. Hop back up there..."

Harry followed Steel's directives easily.

"Mmmmmm, okay, you are still much lighter even without the wings. Good. Okay. Must be hollow..."

Mr. Steel kept mumbling to himself, writing on a clipboard. Harry sighed with impatience, but he still humoured the old man.

"Bring them out again, okay, stretch... stretch them wide..."

* * *

When Harry bounced up the stairs towards his bedroom, he was abruptly grabbed and yanked inside another room.

"What?"

"Shut it!"

Mike voice grumbled, before he abruptly flung Harry down on his bed. He stared up at Mike, flabbergasted. _What on earth __is __wrong with __him__? _Harry thought, more than a little worried now. It did not help with his nervousness that Mike was much taller than he was. _At least he plays fair and one-on-one_, Harry thought uneasily, _unlike Dudley_.

"Just, shut up, and let me speak. I do not like you."

_As if that was a surprise_, Harry thought.

"Stop thinking, too, it makes me like you even less. I don't like how you are now, somehow, the star of the show. I haven't liked you since I first laid eyes on your brown-nosing little face. I don't like how freaking bloody happy you are about being magical. I hate your guts!"

_Err, right_, Harry thought uneasily. None of what Mike said was exactly news, so the reason for the uneasiness at the pit of Harry's stomach was about what would come next. _Was there a point to this?_

Mike was still glaring at him while Harry stood as carefully still as he could, alert for the slightest sign of movement, for any fist thrown…

"I hate you because you remind me of myself." Mike said.

_What!?_ Harry gasped. The signs of surprise must have shown on his face. Mike suddenly sat down with a puff of air. He signed, and his shoulder slumped.

"Don't look so shocked. I was just like you, you know. Ran away from some horrible relatives. Looking for something great. I wanted so freaking bad to belong. But I wasn't found by Mr. Steel, Harry. Not at first... no. Not until much later, when I had nothing to lose. Do you understand, Harry? I was weak. _You are weak._ I thought good of people, I was so _freaking_ trusting. I was an idiot. _And you are too_!"

He paused in his rant, before abruptly reaching forward and grabbing Harry's shoulders, looking straight into his eyes. There was a frightening intensity in Mike's eyes, but it was one that made Harry afraid _for _him instead of _at_ him.

"I learned the hard way, _people cannot be trusted_. I don't know what you think Mr. Steel is up to, but he is using you! And he will _abandon_ you just like the rest of us if you are no longer useful. You_ cannot _rely on him to protect you. You _have_ to learn to protect _yourself._"

The other boy was breathing hard. Harry wasn't sure what to think, and no idea what to say. Mike was... worried about him? _What? _

Harry's mind hadn't completely caught up with everything yet and was stuck on that one word.

_What?_

"I know this sounds crazy._ I know._ But... you are so much like me. Like I was. And I got hurt, Harry. _So badly. _I was used. I do not want that to happen to you. Not here, and not in some mysterious magical world. You are going to have to learn to look after yourself, Harry. You have to. I'll help you. Any way I can. But I still do not like you!"

Well, thank God for that. If the boy had confessed to liking him, Harry might have thought he was under some spell!

* * *

Steel leaned back in his chair. Harry had his tattoo under control. Things were moving forward at a breakneck pace. Still, so little time! Harry would be ten in July, and it was almost February. They were not moving nearly fast enough if that was when the wizards came. He glanced at a book on his desk. It was bound in dark leather, its pages yellowed but otherwise whole. It had been carefully preserved, almost lovingly. The book was perhaps the most valuable in his collection, but also the darkest. Next to it sat the dagger Harry had found many, many, months ago. The snake seemed to grin up at him.

It would take at least a year to implement the rituals in the book. And many more years to finish it. But as a start... Well. They would start now, and hopefully the wizards would not come. And if they did... well. _Well._

He glanced at the title of the book.

Harry would be prepared. _At any cost._

* * *

All the spell books Harry had looked over required the use of a wand. He had went over them all again, a new light in his eyes. But everything he had seen was simply impossible. They required a "wand", a stick of wood with magical inserts. This wand would be tailored to the individual wielder. Then, once a wand was in his possession, he would have to memorize words and movements for each individual spell. Even pronunciation was important! It didn't even seem possible to learn without hands-on, practical, experience, not to mention needing a teacher to show how to perform certain movements.

It was impossible to learn. He could memorize facts, names, but could not learn how. So far, all he and Mr. Steel had focused on was controlling his wings, so that they could move out of the city. In his free time, he was told simply to review what he knew. Harry had always been interested in the wizards, had read the books on their culture and creatures. But the spell books... beyond curiosity, anyway, they were just lists of facts and instructions. Like a big cookbook. But he couldn't cook, because he did not have the tools.

Well. At least he would know the possibilities. And he would know what spells did, what colors they were supposed to be. Hopefully Mr. Steel wasn't expecting him to be able to perform spells! Harry was sure the older man was already aware of the shortcomings. How on earth could Harry get a wand, anyway? And even if he had one, could he use it? Did it have to be charged? Cleaned regularly? Could it misfire, like a gun?!

At that thought, Harry shuddered. There was no telling what an unintentional spell could do. He tried to focus his thoughts on the few books before him again.

Hopefully Mr. Steel was planning something.

* * *

At dinner that night, Mr. Steel broke the news they had been waiting for.

"We are ready to move. Tomorrow, I want everyone to pack their things in the morning. After lunch, we will pack up the magical things. In two days, we leave."

The plan was laid out, simple. Mr. Steel did love his checklists.

The boys all looked at one another. It seemed things were moving so fast.

"Will... I mean, what..."

Tiny drifted off. He looked embarrassed. Kerr gave a 'go ahead' gesture, trying to smile. Even the older boy was having trouble assimilating to the changes.

"What I was wondering, was... what is the new house going to be like? I mean, it is a house, right? Do we... have our own rooms?"

This last was said in a rush. Harry has a feeling that that last question was the true one. Tiny still did not want to be alone in Harry's presence. He tried not to feel hurt. He could understand how Tiny was feeling.

"Oh yes, indeed. The house... Well, cottage, truly... it is an old farmstead. There is the cottage, a two story barn, a shed, and several other things. It is surrounded mostly by woods, though there are some pasture lands. Currently there are no livestock present, though we will probably purchase some to... keep up appearances. I imagine it is in a bit of disrepair, which is one of the first things we will jump on. Well, most of you. Harry, here, he will have more important things to do."

Harry slunk down a bit in his seat. The other boys didn't look at him, but he could feel their discontent. He wouldn't be happy either if he had to do all the hard work while another sat inside or read all day. Or whatever it was Mr. Steel had in mind, anyway. Hopefully it wouldn't just be reading boring books!

"As for rooms, the cottage has two stories. The bedrooms are on the smaller size, I'm afraid. There are four upstairs, two down. Downstairs, there is also a study, living room, dining room, and kitchen. It will take a bit of getting used to, but I'm sure we can manage."

The boys nodded, and excitement began to fill the room. It was always fun, to go to new places, see new things. Harry hadn't said it out loud, but he had been afraid that the boys would resent leaving the city—and perhaps, in a roundabout way, resent him for this change in their life. Instead, they had all treated it as an adventure. Mike's attitude in particular had changed. While the boy still did not like Harry, he also had stopped attacking him. His remarks, while still sarcastic, always seemed to be geared towards teaching Harry something. Or making him think beyond the obvious.

As the noise level rose while the boys began exchanging plans and ideas, Harry glanced over at Mr. Steel. The older man was looking right at him, and his expression was conflicted. Harry felt a spot of fear in the pit of his stomach. He was suddenly reminded that this was not a game. And losing could mean the lives of not just himself, but his new extended 'family' as well.

He wouldn't fail them.

* * *

As the last box was loaded into the truck, Kerr stepped up next to where Harry was standing, leaning against the building wall. It had taken them most of the day to load up the truck. Mr. Steel had rented two fairly big sized moving Vans. Kerr would drive the second, Mr. Steel the first. They brought very little furniture with them, and Mr. Steel left the store well stocked. He had commented that they never knew when they might move back, and the business would be waiting for him if so. Any orders left to complete would be finished on the weekend, when the rental trucks were returned.

It was time to leave.

As the boys loaded into the trucks, Mike and Tiny with Kerr, and Harry with Mr. Steel, the excitement began to dim, replaced with a sense of loss. His first true home that he could remember was being left behind. But he would still be with everyone, and that was what matters, right? Harry would just get used to the idea that 'home is where the heart is'.

Mr. Steel spoke up as they began to pull into traffic.

"Harry. There are some things we need to speak of."

It was a plain statement. The seriousness of Mr. Steel's face renewed the sense of worry Harry had been trying to hide. Harry nodded, keeping his expression open. More and more of Mike's remarks had begun to go through to Harry, no matter how much he disliked thinking badly of Mr. Steel. He understood more, now, that what was in Mr. Steel's best interests might not be his own best interest.

"I have my own, secret, collection of magical artifacts. Things that were too dangerous to have in with the rest, things I did not want anyone to stumble across accidentally. There is a book, in that bag, there. No, do not pull it out yet. This book is one of a few that have material... that I did not deem appropriate for the others. I never wanted to show just what magic was truly capable of. Some of the things... spells, rituals, creature... they are the stuff of nightmares. I know that the spell books you have seen require a wand."

"Exactly!"

Harry burst out before he could stop himself. The lack of a wand had been worrying him for the last few days. Knowing that Mr. Steel too had considered this was a relief. Steel smiled slightly, before the serious expression once more took over.

"Yes, well, you are a smart boy, Harry. I have read much more material, newspapers, books. These wands the wizards used are to perform a particular purpose. To allow weaker, less smart, less... hardworking wizards the ability to perform magic. Also, they help regulate magic use. There is a magical governing body. I have never been able to find out the particulars. What I would not give for a book on magical government! However, I have heard mention of certain illegal spells, and of monitoring spells that could be performed on a wand. I even caught a comment in one article about how 'under-aged' wizards could not perform magic away from a magical institution. I suppose because of secrecy laws, and it being dangerous... But I digress. What I have been able to put together, is this: _Wands are not necessary. _So called wandless magic takes much longer to perform, is much harder to do, but with work, and will... it is possible. This brings me to that book."

Mr. Steel gestured, and Harry carefully reached into the bag and pulled out a thick leather bound book. It was heavy; feeling much denser than its size gave away. The pages were yellowed, but the letter clear and legible. The title was ambiguous. _The Ancient Wizard: Scars and Sacrifice._

"Wands are, in the long scheme of things, a rather recent invention. Before that, there were staffs, swords, even magical jewelry. And before that... wandless. According to that book, the very first magical users go back to the very dawn of time. And at that time, it was only a wealthy, powerful, and creative magical human that could do anything at all. And it required sacrifice. Blood, skin, bones. The only limit was the human imagination. The spells you used were the ones you created yourself. This book... is the beginning. It will be up to you to implement it. They all start the same, and once on that path... well. The rituals inside only require dedication and will, and one particular magical implement that you yourself found. A knife."

Harry felt himself go cold, clutching the book. A knife. Wow, that brought forth some interesting and scary thoughts. What was Mr. Steel expecting him to do? Cut off his fingers? Start cutting himself to gather blood for weird rituals? The thoughts kept coming, and Harry found it impossible to stop them. He felt his breathing speed up, panic beginning to set in.

"Relax, Harry! Perhaps this was not the best method to bring up this conversation. Relax!"

Mr. Steel said forcefully. He did not take his eyes off the road, but his head was shaking.

"It is alright. I swear to you, Harry, you do not have to do anything you do not wish to do. _Nothing."_

"But Sir... I mean, I don't know. I mean..."

"Relax, Harry. Listen. I want you to read that book. Cover to cover. Take the next month, and just read it. You can see some of the other books in my collection as well. I give us a year, give or take a month, to finish this... I guess you would call it ritual. If you decide that it's worth it. Unless the wizards come on your tenth birthday, which I doubt, and all this would be for nothing anyway... well. Unless that happens, we have plenty of time. Just read, and think. This is something that does require sacrifice... but with planning and hard work, it is a temporary sacrifice in some ways. Within a year... one year of hard work, planning...blood. One year, and you would be so strong. Stronger than ever. With that strength, these wizards will not know what is coming to them. They will never suspect... and they can never take that strength away from you. Not while you are living."

It was that last sentence that made Harry go cold again. Fear seemed to seal his throat shut. He nodded, not meeting Mr. Steel's eyes. Harry knew what was at stake. And not just for him, but all of them. If they failed...perhaps these wizards would not make them disappear, but one thing was for certain. They would definitely make them all forget. If Harry wanted Mr. Steel, Kerr, Mike and Tiny to even remember him after the wizards took him, he would have to do everything in his power to protect them. Even if that protection came from his own blood.

* * *

It was a long drive to the farmstead, taking most of the day. Harry wasn't very keen on his geography, but he placed them in Somerset, not very far from a popular tourist attraction, Cheddar Gorge. The nearest village, and a fairly large one as villages go, was Cheddar. Tiny had made a few laughing remarks about cheeses before they left, but Harry was simply hoping to get to visit the gorge at some point. Maybe on his own, even, if his plans worked out. At night, of course.

When they pulled up, Harry's first impression was one of awe. The cottage, nestled into the countryside, simply looked like a home. A place a family could dig into and grow roots. It was definitely a little rough around edges... perhaps more than a little. But it had potential. As they piled out, Tiny made a run for the door.

"I get first pick!"

He had gushed laughingly, before stopping at the door with a disappointed wail. It was locked. As the other boys laughed and joked, Harry stood beside the van, disquieted. He felt as if a cloud had descended upon him, the weight of his responsibility for these people. He knew, and Mike had told him more than once, that what had happened had been done _to_ him, not by him. It was even planned! But still, with a wizard in the house, things were dangerous. And yet... housing stolen magical artifacts was not? The conundrum bothered him, and with a shake of his shoulders he quickly walked towards the cottage, attempting to put it out of his mind.

Mr. Steel slowly unlocked the door, peeking into the house. The boys grumbled, and then hooted with joy as the older man finally stepped in and out of the way. Harry went last, a thing that Mr. Steel noted right away.

"Buck up, Harry. Go pick a room!"

The man smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. Perhaps Mr. Steel had some regrets, as well. Some wishes should never have been made. Harry attempted a smile, and then trudged up the stairs, following the laughter. The boys were all in a group, going from room to room. Truly, they were all about the same size, and every one had a window. Tiny finally declared for the one closest to the stairs with a nod of his head, then dashed downstairs with a grin to begin to get his stuff. Harry stood stiffly, and Mike and Kerr met his eyes.

"I don't have a preference Harry, if you do."

Kerr offered, and Mike nodded along.

"Which one has the best windows?"

Harry tried to say it laughingly, but it came out more desperate, his voice hitching at the end. The boys seemed to catch on to that. Mike abruptly pushed him towards and into the third room, which happened to be a corner room with two windows facing different directions.

"Go ahead, Skinny. Got lots of good looking window panes. One even can be propped open!"

The boy sneered and then swaggered out. At least some things hadn't changed too much. A shout from below summoned them back down the stairs.

"Go ahead and unpack your things, boys. The second bedroom down here will be for the items. We will need to purchase new mattresses, I saw. And lots of food and toiletries. We will take a van into town for now, and tomorrow Kerr and I will get the truck. We will need a vehicle to move around out here. How about a tour?"

At that, Mr. Steel showed them the basic layout of the house. It wasn't exactly modernized, but it would do. It had electricity, a fridge, a heater, and indoor plumbing. That was all Harry needed! With only one shower and bathroom in the house the boys would need to get used to sharing, and a chore schedule set up.

"It reminds me of the old dormitory days..."

Mr. Steel reminisced with a smile. The boys only grumbled good-naturedly. Harry nodded to himself. This would work out fine. _Just fine_, he told himself firmly.

Later, as he sat on his bed in his room and stared at the first page of the thick book, he doubted.

* * *

It was not until half a week later, as things began to come together and smooth out, that Harry finally got a chance to do what he had been looking forward to the past weeks. Stretch his wings.

All the boys, Mr. Steel included had assembled in a clearing in the woods. A slight breeze was weaving through the trees, and Harry was almost vibrating in excitement. Finally!

"Okay, Harry, bring them out!"

Kerr called from the edge of the woods, a good thirty feet away. None had wanted to stand too close, remembering well the few accidents Harry had had with his sharp feathers. With barely a thought Harry brought out his wings, the magic flowing through him smoothly. Even the pain was becoming a normal thing. He immediately could tell the difference between being outside and inside. Even the breeze, as little as it was, created a sort of pressure on him. He was again reminded of just how big these wings were. Kerr had bought several books on birds and their anatomy for him so he would have some sort of idea what to do, but nothing compared to the real thing. It was both amazing and terrifying at once. To compensate for the breeze, Harry had to lean to the left slightly, into the wind. There. Harry smiled, and then spread his wings just a little. Immediately he had to throw out his arms to steady himself. Wow! It was like trying to hold an umbrella against the wind, upside down. His wings were light, but they caught the air. That might come in handy _in_ the air, but it was a hindrance on the ground. He brought them in around himself, reaching his center of balance as he made himself a smaller target.

Okay, now what? The book had been full of ideas about how birds fly. It didn't help that every species seemed to fly different, and Harry's wings only vaguely resembled a bird's. In some ways, they were almost bat like. Most agreed that a bird needed to either propel itself into the air, or take a running leap. Oh, great. Now he really wished no one was watching! This was going to end badly.

His thought was prophetic. Harry decided on a running start. The running part was fine, but when he spread his wings he did not even get a proper wing beat before slamming head first into the ground.

"Uuuuuugghghh..."

He groaned, and sat up to the sound of roaring laughter. The boys were beside themselves, and even Mr. Steel had a wide smile. He could only imagine the sight he made. He signed, then found his will within himself and stood back up with a stern nod to himself. He would keep doing this until he had it. Even if it took all day!

* * *

More like all week, Harry thought to himself with a painful and tired grunt. The flying experiment could have gone better. _A lot better. _He was covered head to toe in bruises from slamming into the ground in various painful ways. Next time, he would make sure there was no wind at all before trying! It was almost impossible to predict, always changing and whirling. The graceful soar Harry had predicted had never come to pass. No matter which way he tried to take off, he always hit the ground hard. Very, very hard. He rubbed a spot on his side with another groan. He had thought flying would come naturally or something.

Maybe humans were not meant to fly. Or at least only on broomsticks, he thought with a rueful smile. Finally he found a comfortable spot on the bed and pulled out the book that he had been struggling with for the last few days. _The Ancient Wizard_, indeed. The book was simply full of words, ideas, and concept that Harry could hardly understand that at times he couldn't help despairing. It was meant for not only an adult, but a knowledgeable adult wizard. Some terms even Mr. Steel did not understand. It would take the both of them to do this little... project. This book was only a start, of course. Mr. Steel had hopes for Harry himself to find more books on the subject later, when he entered the wizarding world. Until then, though, they had this. This was their big, shiny, cursed hope. It was both better, and worse, than Harry had imagined in the van that day. He might not have to cut off any limbs, but he would have to mutilate various parts of his skin with a knife, and no pain medication. A magic knife! Just the thought sent shivers of fear down his skin.

Well, he guessed mutilation might be a bit strong. But only a bit. What else would one call cutting words, or 'runes' as the book said, into one's skin with a magic telekinetic knife?

The introduction to the book seemed to be meant to stop anyone from even reading the rest of the book. It told of all the dangers, all the bad experiences, all the drawbacks. It told why wands were used now, instead of this dangerous method. It warned, and warned, and warned.

And still, Mr. Steel had given Harry this book. He had looked into Harry's eyes, and told him that he had a choice, knowing it was no choice at all.

Harry kept reading late into the night.

* * *

_**Review Please!**_


	8. The Dove Descending

_**Authors Note: Edited 4/29/13 Thanks to my Beta A Mistake! See my profile for a link to my forum for this story, which has responses to reviews and extra material.**_

* * *

_The dove descending breaks the air_  
_With flame of incandescent terror_  
_Of which the tongues declare_  
_The one discharge from sin and error._  
_The only hope, or else despair_  
_Lies in the choice of pyre of pyre—_  
_To be redeemed from fire by fire._

_-T.S. Elliot_

* * *

Harry stood resolutely. He was ready! _This was it!_ He unfurled his wings and hurled himself forward with a running leap, allowing his momentum to shoot himself into the air... and for one glorious second he was aloft, soaring up, a smile lighting up his face...

It was much more painful to hit the ground from that height.

* * *

"Ah, Harry! How did it go? Oh Dear..."

This last was said as Harry limped in with a furious frown on his face.

"Who said it wasn't windy? _WHO SAID?"_

Harry knew that he probably looked silly rather than impressive. He had nothing close to Kerr's commanding voice—the voice of a ten-year-old, after all, was more suited to pleading, but Harry was too cross to care. Giggles echoed down the hallway, before quick feet pattered away. Harry's frown did not abate. Mike would certainly jeer and tell him to stop _pouting_ if he was around, but Harry would've gladly taken on Mike just then, bruise and size difference and all. He was just too angry.

"Come now Harry, you must learn to fly in less than ideal circumstances at some point, yes?"

Mr. Steel smiled at Harry's face, before gesturing into the second bedroom, which had been converted into a combination study and library. Harry followed him grudgingly. He was sore and tired. He did not feel like having the talk that he knew they were going to have . It had been just over a month since he was told to read the book. It was time to make his decision.

He trusted Mr. Steel. He knew that he only wanted to do the best by them. _But is what's best for __yourself __what is best for Mr. Steel?_ That voice sounded a lot like Mike. He tried to put it out of his mind. He had realised after a while that the everyone in the Steel Wings _are_ his family—even Mike was _still_ better to him than any of the Dursleys. _You do what you can for your family_, Harry decided, and this was something Harry could do.

"I know that you finished the book. Tell me what you think."

That wasn't quite what Harry had expected. He had thought there would be more speeches, more convincing arguments in favor of the wandless method. He hadn't expected a simple, straightforward question. Or perhaps it wasn't so straightforward. Harry wracked his brain, trying to think of something concrete to say.

"I... I think I can do it. I mean... I don't want to. Not _really._ But I can...if I need to. I know this is not coming out right..."

Harry scratched the back of his neck, leaning against a shelf. Mr. Steel merely sat patiently, as if he had all the time in the world. Harry knew differently, knew they were fighting against the clock. Who knew how much time they really had? This last thought spurred him forward.

"I'm going to do it, Mr. Steel. I'm going to do it, because it might mean we have a chance. A chance to keep our memories, to protect ourselves... to stand against the wizards. And they might not be evil, they might not mean harm, they might just be nice people... and if that _is_ the case, then its still okay. I can live with this... looking like this... I can live with it. _I can do it._"

The last came out forcefully, in one breath of air. Harry felt Mr. Steel's eyes heavy on him, and he met them without fear. He was certain, and now that he had said it, it felt like a weight was gone from his shoulders. He had made his decision. Now, it was time to live with it.

As he sat down at the desk with Mr. Steel, the book open between them, he did not allow himself to doubt.

* * *

The book was specific in some ways, and hopelessly vague in others. The history section was helpful, but only by so much. It all came down to magic, of course. And blood.

It seemed a wand was able to channel magic because of the magical core within the wood. This magic could last for decades.. or only a few years, depending on the strength and the wand-maker. Wandless magic, on the other hand, relied on the user only. And a wizard only had a finite amount of magic. By using some of it to simply channel, the user had even less magic at his disposal. To compensate for this, ancient wizards had developed a Hodge-podge runic system that, when carved upon the skin, made the magic of the user follow certain pre-prescribed patterns. Even this, however, would not work if it were not for the very first rune that all ancient wizards carved upon themselves: The Ankh.

It was actually an Egyptian symbol. The books speculated that the runic practice must have started in Ancient Egypt, which would also explain the millions of magical artifacts still being found there. When Harry had looked up the Ankh symbol in normal books, it seemed pretty straightforward. Eternal life, strength, health,_ fertility_... yikes! But nothing odd. It all seemed to come back to the magical component, however. Magic changed all the rules. When carved into a wizards body, in the exact correct place, in the exact way... it would create something of a loop inside the wizards magic. An... oroboros. This would allow magic extended from the body to return, in a purely magical base form. Something like a boomerang. But it, too, came with a price. Every spell cast from that moment forth would take twice as much will... for not only was the spell going forth, it was returning as well. It would also take twice as much magic. Why the presence of an Ankh symbol was necessary was much debated by scholars, but the facts were undeniable. It was always first, and always present.

The books was helpless after that, however. It often described an ancient wizards body as a piece of living, magical art. For it seemed, beside this Ankh symbol, nothing was the same. A wizard could carve any rune... and language, any symbol, even a fictional one! Into his body, and the results would differ per wizard, each time. Some would be covered head to toe in Phoenician, some Egyptian hieroglyphics, some in spiraling Arabic... and always it was different. It could take years upon years to finish ones 'set', or seven runes.

There were so many drawbacks. The decrease in magical power for at least a year, as the magical core was put under stress and took time to strengthen its metaphysical muscles. The actual act of carving up oneself... and always it had to be done by the wizard themselves. The pain alone... the runes had to go deep. Had to pierce the skin layer completely. The deeper the better, truly. And the research, each rune added had to be carefully researched, carefully applied. Disaster could result from one misplaced rune. The wizard had to be one with their magic. Had to know every flicker of magic present within the body, had to truly be willing... the work was endless. Harry never would've considered it... no sane wizard would! Even the book itself praised the recent advances in wand magic, because such drastic measures were not required. With a wand, any little thing could be done. Millions of spells could be practiced with only_ one_ implement. With runes, the rules were different. Each rune only had one specific purpose, and that purpose could not be changed after the fact. A mistake made was a mistake that would have to be lived with the rest of the wizards life.

However, if it worked... Harry would have the potential to have defenses that would require no spell to activate. He could defend his mind from outside forces. The runes would be active unless they are literally cut off... and often even that would not remove the magical imprint. His magic would eventually come back to full strength... and then only increase with every spell cast. It would only be a matter of time... if they had that time. No known wizard still practiced this method. It was deemed too risky, with too high a cost. Harry would be the only one of his kind, and this would give him a great advantage over the average wizard.

They needed to start now. Mr. Steel wanted one rune a month, at least. One set consisted of seven interlinked runes, which meant it would take at least seven months to complete the first phase. They had so much to work out, though. Mr. Steel suggested they make a list of the things that Harry most wanted to protect. His mind, obviously. They considered their greatest threat to be the memory-erasing spell. Another big one, for Harry, was being able to see through magical forms of disguise. It would important to know if the wizards were coming under some sort of invisibility spell. The list went on and on from there.

It was Mr. Steel who first mentioned the scar Harry had on his forehead. Why not work with what they already had?

"What language, though? For heaven's sake, this book has every single one in the world! Chinese, Arabic, ancient Mayan, Indian, even weird African dialects..."

Harry put his head in his hands. He could feel a headache coming on, and it was already getting late into the night.

"From what I can see, it doesn't matter. It's the placement, and the will, that decides the effectiveness of the rune. According to it, the only reason Latin words are used in wand spells is to provide structure. Other cultures have spells in their own languages, some even overlap in purpose. However, by having a certain word and motion, accidental spells become much less common. Though, there's a note that the older the language, the more meaning... hmm... power behind the rune? No, that's not quite the way it is worded..."

"It said '_ancient languages proscribe more weight and power to the runes inscribed, both because of the innate power of century-old usage,_ blah blah blah, and... _because of the specific meaning behind the rune._' This book makes no sense. It tells you one thing, then proceeds to tell you why what it just said isn't true. _Argh!_"

"Indeed."

Mr. Steel was looking hard at the page in front of it, obviously thinking more than reading.

"I suppose we need to just decide, Harry. Egyptian would seem an easy choice, seeing as the Ankh symbol would already be present..."

"I'm sorry, but please no! I mean, I don't want silly hands and birds and crap inscribed all over my body! Let's just please at least make it look cool. You know. Since its permanent and all."

Mr. Steel tried to look disapproving, but a smile tugged unwillingly at the side of his mouth.

"Yes, I guess I can see what you mean. Well, there are many other ancient languages. Chinese?"

"Absolutely not. There is no way I could pull off all those fancy squiggles."

"Ooookkay... Mayan?"

"Too blocky. Enough said."

"Well, it doesn't have to be purely one language. We can always create our own... but that would take more time. It is better to have a symbol over a word, though. More meaning infused. Also, less cuts."

"Yeah. I see your point."

The silence between them stretched. It seemed like such a big decision to Harry. It would be permanent, forever... he didn't want to get this wrong.

"Well, we are running out of options. Sanskrit? Aramaic? Akkadian? Hittite? Gaulish?"

Harry gave him a blank look.

"I don't even know what half of those look like."

"Harry! _Bloody._..."

A long sigh. Harry couldn't help but twitch at the flicker of disappointment that passed Mr. Steel's face, no matter how fast it disappeared.

"It doesn't matter what it looks like, exactly. Just that you... will it." Mr. Steel said.

"If I'm going to have to _will_ it, then it would help if I _want_ it! I'm just saying..."Harry's hands were slightly damp from sweat.

"I understand. Look, I have an idea. Look here."

Mr. Steel pulled out a sheet and passed it over. It was a list of the Sumerian alphabet. The letter M was circled, and the symbol besides it looked like a squiggle with a long tail attached.

"What do you see?"

_Was this a trick question?_

"I don't understand."

"Let me help."

Mr. Steel turned the page sixty degrees. Now the squiggle was facing down, the long tail looking sort of like the top of the letter T... and then he saw it. The squiggle looked just like a lightning bolt.

"How about this. It's a form of Sumerian, at one point in history. It was the base of many other languages. Read right to left, the base form of Aramaic, Akkadian, Phoenician, and various other cuneiform-based languages... There are many different translations per letter, you can make it your own. And the language is ancient. Perhaps one of the oldest known, even. You can make this your own."

The last statement was reiterated. Harry could see the appeal.

"But the letter M? What good will that do?"

Mr. Steel pulled out another book. Was he already thinking about this language in particular? How long had the man been planning this? Did he always assume Harry would go along with it?

"It can also mean water. I know, why water? Well, water can represent many many things. It's fluid, hard to grasp... ah, I see your mind working now. Perhaps this rune could be inscribed, with the will to make your mind impenetrable... in the sense that water cannot be captured, or grasped, in the hands... it flows around the obstacles, and it... it can collapse into droplets, or form together as a flooding wave of ocean..."

Harry's mind was working. It was thinking furiously, actually, as hard as he had ever thought. The book had been specific about one thing. No two wizards runes would do the same thing, even if inscribed exactly in the same place, with the same purpose. Because it came down to the will. What one thought of water another did not. It was limited only by the creativity of the wielder. So what if he butchered a language? So what if he started flipping letters and symbols upside down, writing backwards, mixing dialects and carving his freaking skin to pieces. It wouldn't matter, as long as he willed his magic to a specific purpose. He could make his own freaking language and conquer the world!

At that last thought a slightly hysterical laugh bubbled from his throat. He hadn't realized just how nervous he was about this whole process. Mr. Steel frowned, and then leaned back with a sigh.

"It's getting late..."

"No! No, its okay. I'm just... a little overwhelmed. I do not know what to think. I need... more time." Harry was babbling now, eyes wide, as he tried to convince himself that it would really, really be worth it. Carving himself up like a roast chicken on Sunday would be worth it. He couldn't quite suppress the shudder running through him.

"I understand."

But he didn't. For Mr. Steel, the answer was obvious. Always had been. Do whatever you can do, no matter the price. Harry couldn't help but wonder what his wife had been like, and if there was a more concrete reason that they never had kids. That didn't matter now, though. Only this.

Harry cleared his throat, doing his best not to sound as if uncertainty was still raging in him. "How about we go over the process itself? I'll… I'll think on the language, and... tomorrow we will go over design."

"Very well."

Mr. Steel reached into a drawer and pulled out the ritual knife. It really was the dagger Harry had found months and months ago. Two snakes twined up the handle, fangs extended as they rose to strike each other. One had emerald specs dotting its spine in a diamond pattern, the other red filigree that twined around it much like a DNA reel… Both were hooded. _Cobras_, his mind supplied. The fangs seemed to almost glisten in the light. The knife itself was normal looking, with the blade sharp to the touch.

"I'm sure you read the section on ritual knives?"

It was more a statement than a question. Harry had done more than read; he had memorized it with a feverish intensity of someone with only one purpose in life. The thought of the knife... it made everything else seem more real. More immediate. He could almost picture it in his mind, the way it would be. His heart beat faster at the thought.

"This is a dangerous object. Once tuned to your blood and magic, it will be yours. It is currently inactive, meaning either the previous owner is dead, or it was never used. I lean towards the former. Once active, the snakes will come alive at your touch... and only yours. If someone else were to touch it... well, the others should be warned. This is no toy."

No toy indeed. This was a tool, and one he wished was avoidable. Mr. Steel continued.

"The ritual itself is simple. I guess it had to be, in ancient times. You will link with the knife, and the book describes writing on yourself the way you would write on parchment. Every detail must be perfect. No one else is allowed to be present, and it is better done outside. Which is probably better, because of the blood and all..."

He drifted off, probably seeing the expression on Harry's face. Harry tried to smile, as he abruptly stood up.

"Well, that's that then! Put that... away, and tomorrow we will meet again. Pretty simple, yeah? This will be a cinch!"

He tried not to wince at just how high-pitched his voice was. He knew he sounded like a child. A little, foolish child pretending to be grown up, about to do something that only grown-ups do, and not worried about it at all. Only he was, he was more than worried, he was terrified.

He left the room at a quick walk, not allowing Mr. Steel time to say anything else. More and more, he wished the man wouldn't say anything at all.

* * *

He stood in the clearing again, getting his courage up for another attempt.

Harry took a deep breath. No one had followed him this time; it seemed the newness might have worn off. His wings came alive, automatically curling around him to help maintain balance. He was learning.

He walked, and walked, around and around the clearing. He stretched his wings in every direction, learning the movements, feeling the air. He hopped forward, sweeping them up and back. Jump forward, left, right, back. His wings barely rustled as he closed his eyes and began to simply dance, letting his magic take over, feeling the light as it began to rise behind his eyelids. It moved through his body, flowing from his heart. It burned in his wings.

When he came to a stop in the middle of the clearing, his wings were spread wide. He felt himself on the tips of his toes, leaning up towards the sky... and his toes lifted off the ground. The magic itself seemed to be pushing him up, a invisible hand pulling him into the sky...

"Harry!"

BAM.

_He was going to kill them._

* * *

All the boys were getting used to the routine of living on a farmstead. Chores had been divvied up. After the first week, Kerr had come back with a miniature milk cow, some breed called a Dexter, and five chickens. It added some liveliness to their lives. Tiny was hopelessly afraid of the rooster after it chased him around the yard, and the cow stepped on Mike's foot and made it swell up for days.

"Miniature my foot! It's still a bloody five hundred pounds! _Argh_!"

It had taken more than two weeks to finish up all the small repairs. Some new shingles on the roof, fixing this door, that window. Caulking holes, hammering nails, building a chicken coop for the night time. Repairing the cow fence. The list went on and on. Mr. Steel was still going to take a few furniture orders it seemed as well, just to bring in some extra income. The boys had also tossed around the idea of making cheese. Apparently this area was famous for Cheddar cheese (go figure) and the tourist were always gullible and willing to hash out some money for "authentic cheddar cheese, from Cheddar!" It was turning into a good life. If it hadn't been for Harry's odd behavior, things would seem almost normal.

All of the other boys had noticed that Harry and Mr. Steel would disappear for hours at a time after lunch and dinner. What they talked about none of them knew for sure, but Harry always left looking either angry or afraid. And Mr. Steel seemed sad. It didn't help that Harry spent most of the day playing outside or reading in his room. He had very few chores at all.

Tiny was getting jealous. He didn't like that Harry was getting all the attention. It also didn't help that Mike and Kerr kept whispering to themselves, and would quit when Tiny walked into the room. Did they think he was still a kid? That he couldn't handle it? Just what was going on?

After Tiny had snapped out a sarcastic remark in Harry's direction that morning, Mike pulled him aside. The older boy was serious as he closed the door behind them.

"Look, I know what you're going to say, leave the boy _aloooooonnne_, he's under _pressure_..."

" Just _shut up_ and listen. That wasn't what I was going to say." Mike snapped, and Tiny clamped his mouth shut immediately.

"I know it seems like Harry is getting all this favoritism, but its not that simple, okay? I wouldn't trade places with Harry if you paid me. He's going to have to leave a home that he only just found, to go to a potentially hostile place. Its dangerous, and it could change him forever. He might never come back. And he sees us as his family. He wants to protect us. What him and Mr. Steel are up to... its going to be horrible for him. Haven't you seen the look on his face? The boy is terrified. I don't know the details, but... well. What on earth do you think that fancy knife we can't touch is for?"

Mike let the question hang in the air ominously. Tiny wasn't that dense that he didn't notice how Harry seem to tense up at the sight of the knife, or the way his shoulders hunch as he unconsciously pulled himself inward into a smaller and less obtrusive profile. It was fear; there were no two ways about it. Mike sighed.

"It's not just to look pretty, that's for sure. Look, what I'm trying to say is... Harry is doing this for us. And he might not be around for much longer. We need to support him, anyway we can. And when the time comes, we will help him leave. The road he has to walk will take him far from us here, and who knows where it leads?"

Tiny felt horrible. He still didn't like it, but when Mike put it that way. It didn't help that he had never even considered what the knife was for. He'd just assumed it was some kind of cool toy. What on earth was Harry up to?

He met Mike's eyes and nodded.

"I understand. I'll be nicer."

"Well, I didn't say _that_! As far as I'm concerned, Skinny needs to be brought down to earth once in a while!"

The boy smirked and flounced off. Tiny just shook his head with a smile. He was glad that some things didn't change!

* * *

Harry knelt in the clearing, alone again. It was the middle of night, and the stars glittered in the sky. It was so much like his own magic. His wings were stretched straight above him, waiting. He gathered his will and magic, allowing the light to once more take shape. This time not only in his wings, but his hands. He gathered it in; feeling his magic shrink then fill up much like it had that first night when drawing his wings inside himself. He paused.

When he let the magic loose, he brought his wings down in a strong downcast, even as he pushed off from the ground. He was aloft before he could believe it, and that one leap took him to the tops of the trees. He kept beating his wings in strong, slow beats, allowing his magic to expand, helping him keep aloft. For the next hour, he simply hovered there, staring across the countryside and into the starry night. He wasn't brave enough to actually try flying anywhere, but just being able to hover here... it meant so much to him. He felt free, for a minute he was above all the fear. His problem were left on the ground, where they belonged. For now, he was free.

* * *

Harry entered Mr. Steel's office quietly and approached the desk.

"I'm going to start like you said. Sumerian. Or some form of it, like a mix of Phoenician and Aramaic. I like that one letter for the head. The letter M... like in Magic, or Mind. It fits in more ways than one."

"I'm glad you have made a decision, Harry."

He heard the words not said. _About time, now let's move on._ He was glad Mr. Steel hadn't said them.

"I think you can manage to do both runes at the same time. If not, we will do the second the day after. For now, I just want you to practice writing it, over and over. Remember, it needs to follow your scar. We will do this on the closest new moon, in three days. The book didn't specify, but it did say either full or new moons were usually used for rituals. It can't hurt to stick to tradition, for this. I wish we had more information... but no use crying over spilled milk. Are you ready to enchant the dagger?"

Dagger. _That sounded soooo much better than knife_, the thought sarcastically. Harry blew out the breath he had been holding, then nodded and reached forward to grab the knife, no _dagger_, on the desk. He could swear the snakes were taunting him.

"I guess I just... make a cut, right? And say the words?"

"Yes, Harry. Just a tiny prick, enough to blood the blade."

_Blade. _How many more fancy terms was he going to use for this pig-sticker? Was this supposed to make him feel better? He tried to focus, to remember why he was doing this. For his family. For the other boys, the other people trapped in this scheme by Mr. Steel. It abruptly occurred to him that he felt like a victim, like all the boys were victim of Mr. Steel and his obsession. Mike was wearing off on him more than he thought. Would he ever truly trust Mr. Steel again, after this? Like he did before?

He remembered the ritual words. _I yield blood, I yield flesh, to make this blade my own._ Pretty simple. It was customary to bleed on the knife, to adjust it to his magic. To make it respond without touch. Then the words were spoken, providing a focus and target. Harry closed his eyes, finding his magic waiting just under the skin of his left palm. With the knife in his right hand, he slowly put the blade against his palm, laying it there for a second. _Make it quick._

The slash went much deeper than he thought it would. The blade was razor sharp, unexpected. The snakes seemed to hiss, and for a split second, as the blood welled up and spilled, he forgot the words. It seemed his magic itself pushed the words out for him, with no input from his mind.

_"Blood-of-mine, Blade-of-mine, Flesh and Steel, I yield."_

It came out with a hissing undercurrent, and the words were not what he was meant to say. Before he could think about that too hard, the snakes came alive, curling around his right palm, hissing gleefully. He let out a shout as they both sank their fangs into his wrist. The pain was sudden and he could almost feel a crunch of bone and vertebrae. His saw stars, jumping from his seat in fright. _This was not what he had expected!_

As suddenly as he had been bitten, the snakes released him, and looked up into his eyes. The wound healed instantly, leaving blood drying from four tiny circular scars.

_"Name us, Master. Give us our name, and we will serve you in the darkest-night, the greatest-light, the hour-before-it-ends._"

What? A name? The hour before it ends? They said their words together, as if it was supposed to be one word, but he heard it as more. The book had said nothing about a name, though. Or a speaking knife, for that matter. _Or biting!_

_"A name, a name!"_

Their hisses escalated with excitement. What on earth do you name a knife? He had dreaded this for so long... dread. Now that would definitely be an appropriate name for this whole situation.

"_Your name will be 'giving-great-fear-in-terrible-times'."_

What on earth? He hadn't meant to say that! Before he could say anything else, the snakes hissed in agreement, their voices rising up in what was almost a song. A very snakish song.

_"Yes, yes, and we shall cut, rend-tear, strike-the-softest-place!"_

Their voices blended together, and Harry was at a loss. He looked over at Mr. Steel for the first time, only to see an expression his face that he had never seen before. _Fear._ He was afraid of him! This was already getting out of hand. He had to find a way to get this dagger-snake-thing off his arm!

_"Not now, beautiful ones."_

Flattery could never hurt!

_"Now, return to your bloodless-state, we will... strike-the-softest-place later. When the lowest-light-leaves-the-sky we will meet again."_

Wow that was a mouthful. Luckily, the snakes hissed in agreement, slithering out from around his hand and back to the handle of the dagger. Harry almost dropped it then and there, but had enough presence of mind to put it on the desk before collapsing into the chair. The room was silent for a few minutes.

"Well, that was... _unexpected._ Most interesting, indeed. Yes."

Mr. Steel was babbling! Harry never thought he would see the day! He nodded, looking over his left palm. His hand had bled a great deal more than either of them had expected, but the wound itself was sealed shut, leaving a straight angular scar across his palm. He looked back up at Mr. Steel, amazed.

"Look at this! It healed itself right up, just like the book said. And wow, did you hear those snakes, how the words sounded? And I would try to say something, and it would come out totally different! I mean, I guess it meant the same thing, but it was just.. a different way of saying it! And the thing bit me!"

Mr. Steel looked at him for a few seconds.

"Yes, most unexpected. But, Harry. I could not understand what you were saying. You were... hissing. It seems the magic in the dagger allowed you to speak in the serpent tongue. Perhaps that is why the words were not the same, as a snake would not have the same words for things that we have. Your magic must have been compensating."

Well, that made sense, at least.

"It wanted a name. I'm calling it Dread, though that seems to come out slightly different in snake talk. It is very hard to talk to that thing."

"Mmmm, yes, well, I imagine so."

That was all? Where was his talkative teacher? Had seeing real, true magic bothered him that much?

"Do not worry about the mess. I have something for you. Or, rather, for that dagger."

Mr. Steel reached down and pulled up a wooden chest. It was small and simple, with a decorative finish. The inside even had a plush lining. It was the perfect size to fit the dagger. Harry gratefully smiled. At least now he wouldn't have to just have the thing sitting around on his desk!

"Thank you so much, Mr. Steel! this looks like it was expensive..."

"Oh, no trouble, no trouble at all. I made it myself, actually. See, there is your name, right on the side."

Harry looked, and indeed, there was a name on the side. It didn't end the way he expected.

_Harry Steel._

He looked up quickly at Mr. Steel, who smiled.

"You have never told me your whole name, child. As far as I am concerned, this is who you are now. Who you were before doesn't matter. You are one of mine now."

Harry smiled back, weakly. Mr. Steel could probably take the lack of enthusiasm for all the pain he had to endure just now.

For some reason, it sounded more ominous than encouraging. But Harry still felt touched to his heart. He belonged, truly. Mr. Steel had his oddities, but who didn't? The man loved him, loved them all, in his own way. He did not want to hurt them, or to see them hurt. Harry carefully picked up the knife, his heart thudding in his ears, and he breathed a sigh of relief when it remained inactive. He set it in the box and closed the lid. It had a lobster-claw looking latch that he slid into place. He finally stood up, cradling the box.

"I guess I'll just, go, and um, practice those runes. Both of them. And on the new moon, we will... do this thing. "

It was stilted, but Harry suddenly just wanted to get away. He was tired, and there had been a bit too much excitement that day. Mr. Steel nodded graciously, gesturing towards the door. Harry's heart did not slow down until he reached his room and shut the door behind him. Then he saw the bloody mess on his left palm and right wrist and felt like he was going to lose his dinner.

* * *

It was night again. For some reason, it felt as if he was meant to be a night creature. His wings didn't stick out in the dark, did not reflect the glaring rays of the sun. He was aloft in the same practiced leap as before, and this time rose above the trees. A slight wind stirred his messy hair, ruffled his feathers. He should be cold, but he wasn't. It was magic.

His wings set a steady beat. It was almost like a heartbeat, a steady thrumming that flowed through his body and magic and through the air. He rose and fell to its beat. He angled his wings, learning the feeling of flight. Learning what was up and what was down. It would not of been possible without magic. He was light as the feathers on his back in the air, his body behaved against the rules of gravity. Gravity had no hold on him as he floated, allowing his magic the joy of flight.

He loved the glitter of the stars, so much like his own self. In his magic sight, he blended right in with the sky, full of sparkle and deep dark spaces in between. Before he even realized it he had risen high into the sky. He was also miles away from the cottage. With a reluctant sigh, he turned and headed back towards home.

Home. _Where the heart is._ Only, he was beginning to wonder where his heart really was. In this? This magical flight? Being born up on wings of steel? Tomorrow night, at this time, he would take up a knife and cut himself to the bone, twice. He would start on a road he could never step off of. All this in the name of this home he had been brought into. He was still willing, willing to do whatever it took to protect what he had.

_It was worth it_, he thought firmly to himself. _Everyone is worth it._

He would not waste time on regrets. He had magic, and he would have power. Things like being Dudley's punching bag was a thing of the past, never to happen again. If his cousin could see him not, he would certainly cower in fear, Harry thought with satisfaction. Who knows how life could have turned different? What other paths he did not take? Those things didn't matter anymore. Here is where he was, and there was where he was going.

Tomorrow, he would be changed. For the better, and for the worst. Life though was full of change, and magic itself was all about change. Changing the state of things, the look of things, the feel of things.

He set himself into a careful dive, landing lightly one foot at a time, and then withdrawing his wings in a practiced move. His first true flight.

_He was getting better at this._

* * *

**_Review Please!_**


	9. This Friday Good

_**Authors Notes: Edited 4/29/13, thanks to my beta A Mistake!**_

_**My profile has a link to a forum for this story, with review responses/comments.**_

_**Aramaic and all of its forms is a language that evolved over thousands of years. What I take from it is a picture from one spot in time. It is more Phoenician than anything else, I suppose. I do not pretend to know anything about the language. It's called Google! **_

* * *

_The dripping blood our only drink,_

_The bloody flesh our only food:_

_In spite of which we like to think_

_That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood-_

_Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good._

-T.S. Elliot

* * *

It was Friday, the night of the new moon. Yesterday they had gotten the center of his usual clearing ready for the ritual. The center had been carefully tilled and smoothed over into a circle about five feet in diameter. The fresh dirt would not be disturbed until Harry stepped inside to start the ritual. None of this was necessary according to the book, but it had been done in several of the examples. Mr. Steel figured it was better to err on the side of caution. The boys had gathered a handful each of wildflowers and spread them about the outside.

The boys had tried to joke about being flower-girls, but it had come out awkward and the joke was soon dropped. It was hard to laugh about what they were doing. None of them liked that Harry would have to do this alone. He thought they were rather of the opinion that he was going to slit his own throat, or something, though he morbidly wondered if there was going to be much difference in the pain he was about to feel. Harry himself was glad he was alone. No one would have to see what he was doing, if he messed up, if he lost his courage. No one would see him if he cried.

The book simply said no other person or intelligent magical creature should be present. It implied that his had to do with thoughts. Nothing might go wrong, but something could, if the audience had a strong enough thought. It could affect the function of the rune. The book had not specified how far away people would need to be, but Mr. Steel had decided that they would all stay inside the house. If Harry wasn't back by dawn, they would come for him. He did not want anyone risking messing up the ritual.

"But what if he goes unconscious? Could he, like, I don't know, _bleed to death_?"

That was Tiny's question. The poor boy had regretted it right away, of course, as he was immediately on the receiving end of several harsh glares. Harry did not even turn to look, but merely replied in a calm voice.

"The cuts heal immediately. It is part of the magic."

There was nothing else to say to that.

* * *

_Ankh._

_Mem._

The two runes he would cut tonight. Mr. Steel had had no doubt that he was capable of both. Harry wasn't inclined to disagree. It should be fairly simple, right? Ankh was a little tricky, getting the perfect loop at the top, but with a mental hand there were no trembling fingers. Mem would be no harder. He would simply follow his scar, and then curve the tail over his right eyebrow, almost into the hair line. It would not be super noticeable. It had taken some thought to figure out whether to draw the symbol as if looking from the inside, like in a mirror, or from the outside. Finally, they had decided on from the outside, as that was the view he would have from the dagger. Best keep things simple, right?

So simple.

Enough self-pity! Harry mentally slapped himself. He felt like a pathetic child, whining about life not being fair. He had to stop being so moody and just get this over with. He was making the whole house miserable. He tried to sit up straight, pull his shoulders back. This was the start of a powerful spell. He should be proud of the opportunity to become more than he was. More than he could have been. _Think positive!_ He could protect his friends, his pseudo brothers. They had been supportive of him, had not thought evil of him for being a wizard. They liked him, cared for him as much as he did for them. He hadn't been told, but he had seen what Kerr had come home with a few days ago. While he was locked up with Mr. Steel, the boys had been target shooting. How they had gotten illegal firearms was no one's best guess, but they had. He could only assume they planned to do their own part.

_Ankh. Mem. Ankh. Mem._

He went over the figures in his mind. Each one would have to be carved carefully, and then pronounced out loud while willing his magic to take on the properties represented by the mark. It all sounded simple, too simple. It would probably get just as out of hand as the knife had before when it had been activated. He was uncertain of what to expect.

"Harry, _eat._"

The words made him look up from staring blankly at his plate. Kerr was smiling gently at him. Harry smiled back, and made the effort to shovel in some more food. He wasn't truly hungry, too nervous, but he could appreciate the sentiment. Before he was ready, dinner was over and boys were awkwardly looking at each other. Finally, Mr. Steel stood.

"Well, come now, Harry. I will walk with you."

But not stay. _Not stay to watch his work._

The thought was unjustified. Harry tried to put it from his mind. He accepted the 'good-lucks' from the boys, and even managed a smile at Mike's comment: _'don't cut off a finger, Skinny, you need those to cook for us!'_ Kerr clapped him on the shoulder, and then Harry was through the door and outside, walking silently beside Mr. Steel towards the clearing. The walk did not take as long as it usually felt like it did. This time there was no anticipation of flight, only dread. He truly had picked an appropriate name for his ritual knife.

As they reached the clearing, Mr. Steel stopped. He turned to look at Harry, reaching out a hand to touch his hand lightly.

"This is your chance, Harry. Say you do not want to, and we will never speak of it. We will search for another way. This is your choice."

Why did he feel as if this was Mr. Steel taking the burden off his own shoulders and putting the weight of the responsibility on his own? If anything went wrong, it would be Harry's own fault for going along with it. Harrys choice. Harry's responsibility. Harry's burden. Harry's fault. Harry's choice that was no choice at all. A stab of anger flared once at being herded this way, indirectly trapped, before sinking again into a glum and fatal acceptance.

What difference did Mr. Steel trying to scrub his own conscience make, after all, if Harry was about to say yes all the same?

There was no other way that they knew of; they did not have any other books, any other knowledge. They did not know enough about anything. This could be some fatal mistake, and they would never know why, or if it was even worth it. But it could also save them if the wizards were truly hostile. It could make all the difference in the world. The thought looped inside his head like that snake that ate its own tail, making him vaguely nauseous. Oroboros. Harry gripped his knife tighter.

"I know, sir. I'm willing."

Not truly ready, but willing nevertheless. Mr. Steel smiled in what looked like relief, and then gave him a nod. Harry felt an irrational annoyance that Mr. Steel could feel relief at all right now, where the pain was still to come for him.

"Very well. I will see you soon."

No platitudes, at least. As he watched the other man walk away, never looking back, Harry nodded to himself. It was time.

* * *

Mr. Steel sat at his desk downstairs. He knew no sleep would come to him while the boy was outside. He had no idea how long this would take. He found himself feeling guilty, but it was the boy's choice. He had not forced him to do anything, but merely gave him all the options at their disposal. And the ritual would not truly harm him, and with time would even improve his state of being! It was just like that tattoo, for what boy wouldn't love to fly? It was worth doing, he knew it. And Harry knew it too, or he would not have gone along with the plan.

He told himself this, over and over, as he waited.

_It's for the best._

* * *

Harry stepped carefully into the circle, holding Dread in his hand. He knelt in the center, and then carefully set the knife on his shins as he unbuttoned his shirt. He pulled it off, and then tossed it outside the circle. He felt the ever-present itch on his back and released his wings. He did not want to be distracted this night. He furled them about himself as best he could, letting their silky texture bring him some measure of comfort. His breathing was coming fast, and he tried to calm it as he lifted Dread and looking into the sparkling eyes.

_"Awaken, Giving-Great-Fear-in-Troubled-Times. I have need of you."_

The sound was sibilant, and the snakes came alive at once, curling in ecstatic patterns, their hisses jubilant.

_"We arise, in darkest-night, to do your bidding, Winged-Speaker-of-Snakes. What is the will?"_

He didn't think he would ever get used to the way snakes talk.

_"This darkest-night, we will begin the journey. Ankh will take its place in the heart, and Mem the mind."_

Well, that came out a bit clearer. The snakes hissed as one, and Harry let his eyes fall closed, reaching with his magic out to the knife. He could almost sense one mind, a magical upwelling within the blade that reminded him of a star of his own power. Which, he supposed it was. Before he could think much on it, his mind abruptly shifted. He was once more without his body, a part of Dread. No, he was Dread; he was _giving-great-fear-in-troubled-times_. All of his own fear fell away, replaced with a sense of direct purpose.

Blood. _Yes. _That is where the _life-magic_ is.

Some distant part of him tried to rebel, but it was too small, and too late. With almost surgical precision, the tip of the blade hovered about his heart, on the left side of his chest. He could see the light spilling forth, circling through his body, pooling in his hands and wings. It did exist throughout his body, he could see now, just not at the level as before. The dark spaces in between were cool and comforting, the stars sparkling bright. He was simply creating a new _light-star_, a new pattern for the _magic-blood-life_ to follow.

_Ankh._ Eternity. _Ankh._ Life._ Ankh. _

He could see the symbol so clearly in his mind. The knife moved downwards, to the bottom of the well of light over his heart, and with a burning precision cut deep, moving up to the center. At the center it curved to the right, making a loop to the top of his heart and then back down to meet in the center. The knife lifted up for a bare second, before slashing forward in one quick movement, making a deep slash across the center, completing Ankh.

_Ankh!_

It was said in a rush of air, and how odd it was to see himself speaking. Oh. _Oh._

He could see it now. He could! The magic welling forth, exploring this new thing, this new path. His will was steel, as sharp and strong as the wings on his back. This Ankh meant eternity to his magic, an infinite circle. A loop that his magic would forever follow, bursting forth and bouncing back, always, forever. For eternity. It would keep his life, keep it save within. _Ankh_. the start of the path, the beginning of a set that would stretch across his body, across time. For a second, he could almost see that future, could see himself, a man, wings spread as runic stars glittered across his self, lighting up the _blackest-night_, soaking in the_ greatest-light_, existing until the _hour-it-all-ends, _and the words made sense, they echoed inside himself...

Then it was over. With an abrupt feeling of loss he was himself, kneeling in the cold dirt, wings heavy on his back. His chest ached fiercely, and Dread was still in his hand. He felt both exhausted and energetic at the same time, pulled in two directions. He now knew with certainty that _Mem_ would not be done tonight. With a new sense of purpose, he stood. No,_ Mem_ would be on the full moon. And after that _Zayin_, and _Heth_, and _Samekh_, on and on, a rune for each circle, a rebirth as the moon waxed and waned.

It all made so much sense now. He could see it clearly in his mind. This was _wonderful,_ this was _great, _this was_ right. _

_This was who he was meant to be._

Who cares for a year's weakness? He had so much to accomplish! A sense of purpose. He barely remembered to draw his wings back in as he leapt from the circle. Dread was bared in his hand as he walked back to the house, the box and clothes left behind with barely a thought. So much to think about, to do, to be.

_Ankh._

* * *

Tiny couldn't sleep. The thought of what Harry must be going through scared him. He felt so guilty for the way he had been feeling before. When he heard steps on the stairs, he abruptly jumped from his bed and peaked through his door. The steps were coming closer. When Harry came into sight, Tiny felt fear burst from him, and he froze stock still in terror.

The boy was no longer wearing his coat or shirt. His shoes were missing too, somehow. The knife he had barely gotten a glimpse of before now shone in his hand, blood crusting on the blade. Was he going to murder them in his bed? Had the magic made him crazy? Tiny suddenly saw his eyes, glowing a fierce green in the night, a faraway look in his eyes. As if he were seeing things that were not there. As he turned away, towards his own room, Tiny saw what had been the purpose for the whole thing. A raised scar, about six inches in length, decorated Harry's chest, right over his heart. Blood was still splattered across his front, running down from the scar all the way to his feet. As the snick of a door closing brought him out of his terrified daze, several marks on the floor caught his eye.

Bare, bloody footprints.

Tiny paled as his strength seem to leave him, his knees weaker than jelly as he leaned on the wall for support. The extent of the night's horrors were starting to become clear to him. Oh,_ Harry._ What on earth had been done to him? What had _he_ done to himself? Was anything ever going to be normal again?

Tiny made a vow to himself, right then and there. He would never doubt Harry again. He might fear him, at times hate him, at times love him, but he would always support him. Harry had given up of himself for all of them. Had made a sacrifice. It was the least they could do to return the favor.

* * *

Harry rested his head against the window, looking out into countryside. He guessed he had been in his room for a few hours at least. It had taken a while to come out of the daze he had been in. The unreal haze of power and knowledge was beginning to fade, replaced by the usual thoughts. He found himself wishing for the freedom of flight, to simply soar and think. He felt confident though, for the first time since this started. He knew he could do this, and not just do, but enjoy. The rush of magic, of blood, was addictive. He found himself longing almost painfully for the full moon.

With a soft sound, his wings come forth unbidden. He was tired, so very tired. He knew he was supposed to meet downstairs, but couldn't bring himself to do so. The wings felt comforting to him as he stared into the _darkest-night._ He shook himself out of the haze he had unknowingly begun to sink back into. _Darkest-night_? That was snake talk. He hoped he didn't start talking like a snake out loud! That would be embarrassing. At that thought, he felt a weary smile come on his face. Definitely had prank-material though. He stood up, stretched, and called his wings back in. It took longer than normal, but once they were in, Harry gratefully collapsed on his bed.

Perhaps things would be clearer on the morrow. He would have several things to talk toMr. Steel about, that was for sure.

* * *

It was past lunch time. The boys had eaten in mostly silence. Mr. Steel had been informed at breakfast by Tiny that Harry had come in in the early hours of the night and went straight to bed. He had also told him the state the boy had been in. With a wince, Mr. Steel had called the boys together to go look in the clearing. Harrys coat was at the edge of the clearing, his shirt thrown to the side, and the box the dagger had rested in was at the edge of the circle. There was a spot in the circle where Harry had obviously knelt, but no footprints of him leaving. _Had he jumped out?_

The boys had tried to ignore the blood on the circle. With a sigh, Mr. Steel himself raked the ground anew, tilling the blood under the soil until it was no longer noticeable.

When they had all came in, Mr. Steel had given them the day off. He wasn't sure when Harry would come down, but he was willing to wait. He did not want to rush the boy. By the time lunch rolled around and the boys had eaten and then left again, he was beginning to get worried. He told himself to relax, and attempted to sit down at his desk and read.

Kerr poked his head in. "Harry is in the shower. I saw him dart in there. And all of his clothes and sheets are in the laundry. Sir... they are covered in blood. You think he's okay?"

"Oh, I'm sure he okay, he's a strong one. I'm sure you will see him at dinner, right as rain. Run along now, I doubt he wants to be bothered."

What a relief. The boy was okay. Kerr gave a worried smile, and then disappeared again. Mr. Steel steadied himself, and then dug back into this research. Harry would join him on his own time.

* * *

Harry left the shower, feeling much better. Nothing like being clean to give oneself a new perspective. When he woke up, dried blood caked his clothes and mattress. He had quickly darted down stairs, threw his clothes in with the laundry, and jumped into the shower. The box for his dagger had been sitting on the kitchen table, and he reminded himself to grab it and put Dread away. He did not like leaving it simply lying out. He couldn't forget Mr. Steel's warning about others touching the ritual knife.

Just thinking about Dread made his chest ache anew. Though the wound was scarred over, it still felt new. This morning the knife had practically gleamed under the blood. At that thought, Harry grabbed the box and trotted back up the stairs, stopping to grab a wet towel. When he reentered his room, he carefully picked up the blade and begin to wipe it clean. He looked at the tiny knobs on the underside, where his fingers had fit neatly in between. He carefully wiped a speck of blood off of the ruby-red stones and the emerald specks. As he wiped, he remembered first bringing the blade to Mr. Steel, and what he had said.

_"This is very, very good, son. Very good! I've been hoping that you boys would find one someday. These daggers were described in great detail in one of the books I have. A dark, dark book, all about Wizarding rituals that use… well, no matter. See these small knobs around the base of the blade and along the dull end? And this tiny snake here, with wings and a mane? Defining features of a ritual blade, very distinctive. "_

What a naive fool he had been. The hints had been there all along, and he had had no idea. None of them had. How long had Mr. Steel been keeping such things from them? All the dangerous stuff, the darkness. He stared at his reflection in the blade, and traced with one finger the little winged snake embossed at the top of the steel. As if his regard had caught its attention, the wings ruffled slightly and the snake turned its head. He quickly snatched his hand back, and breathed a sigh of relief when the symbol stilled. That had been close. He had no desire to talk to Dread, not now.

He sighed, and figured it was about time to go face the music. He had hid in his room long enough. He set Dread back into its box, slid it under his bed, and then trotted downstairs and to Mr. Steel's room. When he entered the office, the man looked up and smiled.

"Harry! So glad to see you up and about! Hungry? I'm afraid you missed breakfast and lunch. Would you like something?"

"No, thanks, sir. I just... I did not do the second rune. It didn't feel right."

The other man looked disappointed, but hid it quickly. Harry could not help the corresponding pang of disappointment that he felt in response to that. He wanted to think that he was more than someone who happened to be a wizard.

"Next month, perhaps?"

"Well, actually. I was thinking on the full moon, this time. In fifteen days. I just... I get this sense that both full and new would be good times. So twice a month, I was thinking. Or at least, most of the time. For this next year. If we have that long, anyway."

"Brilliant, Harry! That is great. Have you any ideas, then?"

Was he not going to ask anything about how the ritual went? Was he waiting for Harry to say something himself? He decided to just play along.

"Well, obviously _Mem_ will be next. And then, I was thinking perhaps _Heth_, for protection, on my left hand, it would fit right in with the scar from the knife..."

Harry drifted off. Mr. Steel was nodding along, looking politely interested. What did he want?

"Well, and _Zayin_ would be an obvious choice for my right palm, it means weapon... not too sure about that one, or how to will it to be..."

He drifted off again. No comments were forthcoming, no ideas. It was as if there was an invisible wall between them now. Harry cleared his throat.

"Sir, is everything okay? Did I do this right? Is something wrong?" Harry hated how he sounded; he hated the desperation creeping into his voice. It was the voice of the Boy Crying Alone in the Closet. It was the voice he wished he could discard like one does old clothes, or old identities.

"Oh no, not at all! I just figured... well, perhaps you would like to do this on your own. You can always come to me; of course, if you have a problem or question, and of course we will all help you prepare... but perhaps it is better if you do this on your own. I would hate to push my opinion on you."

He was worried about that now? Now, after everything else?

"Sir, I value your opinion." Harry insisted. He had been reasonable, he told himself. His questions were _reasonable_.

"Oh, I know, I know. And you shall have it, of course!"

_Of course. _Well. Harry stood slowly, waiting for a comment but receiving none. Silence crept between them as the unwanted third in their company. He felt strangely empty. Like a boat cut adrift without anchor.

"Well, I guess I'll... I'll leave you to your reading. I guess I am hungry after all; I'll just go grab me a snack before dinner. I'll see you tonight."

Mr. Steel nodded politely. Harry waited a second longer, enough time for the awkwardness to creep up. Then he finally turned and left the room.

Why did he feel as if he had just been abandoned?

* * *

The look on Harry's face almost changed his mind. The boy had looked so lost.

Mr. Steel regained his resolve with a shudder, relieved when the door clicked behind the boy. He was glad Harry was continuing along the path, and would finish his set. Of course, the boy did not have much choice. There was a compulsion to finish, once started. The magic desired to be present in sevens, and this was no exception. It would keep Harry focused, until the link of seven runes was complete.

He wanted to help. Wanted to guide. It would take constant willpower to stay away. But it could not be risked. Harry had to do this alone. If the worst happened, and Steel and the rest were captured or done away with, they would have no information on Harry's secret. The other boys did not even know the details, and Mr. Steel himself only knew of the first few runes. He would try to lead Harry away from giving him any details, and hopefully the compulsion would take care of the rest.

He did not want to burden Harry more than he already had. What the boy was doing was beyond his years already.

* * *

Dinner was a quiet affair. The boys were nervous and awkward. Mike and Kerr had tried to carry conversation, but it was hard with no one else truly participating. It was universally decided, however, to use funds they had saved up to buy a good telly. That would help with a distraction, for sure.

Harry trudged up to his bedroom afterwards, laughing off any comments the boys tried to make about the night before. He was fine. Perfectly okay. Just a little worn around the edges.

He sat at his desk, pulling out pen and paper and what he was now referring to as The Book.

What runes next? Last night the question had seemed so clear. He wished he could get that clarity back. He started to make a list of things he would like. Protection for his mind. Protection for his body. The ability to see hidden things. The ability to attack. He pulled out the little information he had on Aramaic and Sumerian. The cuneiform was harder to comprehend. Once more, he was glad that there were few rules. The more rules, the easier it would be to accidentally break one. At least this way, it was much harder to screw up.

Mem was next, to protect his mind. That would obviously be on his forehead, to take advantage of the scar already present. After that, he was leaning towards Heth, on his left palm. _Heth_ was the letter H, and translated to something resembling a fence, or Barrier. He would make it into a shield of sorts, able to protect from foreign magic's. Perhaps even give it the ability to extend beyond himself, to cover others. After that, he wasn't sure. _Zayin_ seemed a shoe in for an offensive ward, literally meaning Weapon. He figured it would work on his right palm, but how would it work? His mind was a bit at a loss on that one. It was also hard to see how it would attack. There were millions of kinds of offensive attacks. He looked over his list again. Okay, the ability to see. More than one rune could work, he supposed. There was _Ayin_, or Eye. Also,_ He, _Window, or even _Daleth_, Door. All could imply seeing things normally hidden from view. He would have to research that one a bit more. Also, where to put it? He wasn't sure he wanted to put another rune on his face. The one on his forehead would be bad enough. At least that one would be much more than what he already had, the tail end would be up near the hairline. Most wouldn't even notice anything different. But putting a rune under his eye? Yikes. No, definitely not ready for that yet.

Harry rubbed his forehead, feeling a slight headache coming on. He wished Mr. Steel was here. The man always seems to have an idea of what to do. However, instead of the usually sadness he was beginning to get simply angry. Not, not angry, furious. A quiet, cold fury, at the thought of being abandoned right when he needed guidance the most.

He tried to put his focus back on his notes. What body parts besides eyes implied the ability to see? Fingers, ears? No, and no. This was impossible. He looked over his notes again. In this picture, _Ayin_ was a simple circle. Nothing special or fancy. Wait. How small could these runes be? Did they have to be as super big as the _Ankh_ on his chest? He absently rubbed his new scar as he flipped pages in his book.

Nothing. Nothing said if size mattered. _Only will._ He was getting sick of reading that word. Will this, will that, will it and it happens! Magic and will seemed to be a match made in heaven. Harry sighed. Where could he put runes that they are hidden? Under his clothes, obviously. His feet, they are normally in shoes. Palms were not super noticeable either. His hair could hide them too, obviously. Wait, now there was an idea. He could hide some of these runes under his hair! His hair had always grown super-fast (_once even overnight, and now he knew why that was, didn't he?_). How far back did the optic nerve go? He struggled to come up with an idea, and failed. He would have to get more books, he thought with determination. Perhaps one on anatomy. He tried not to get daunted at the prospect of having to trudge through yet another thick book he could barely situate on his lap.

Harry leaned back with another long sigh. He was still tired. He had hoped to sneak out again and go flying, but found himself losing the will. His mind made up, he decided to go to bed early. They still had four months before his tenth birthday. He would have no problem getting in the last six runes in a set. That was a lot, when he only could come up with four, maybe five he wanted right now. And he was supposed to do this for an entire year? How many runes was that, exactly? Twenty four?! He needed more books, more ideas.

He wished now he hadn't mentioned to Mr. Steel about doing two a month. He had been so certain at the time, but now, not so much. But he couldn't go back now. At least the next two were pretty straight forward. In the meantime, he would research the others. As he climbed into bed, he considered how the wizards might react. It would be nearly impossible to hide the runes, especially if he had to use any in defense. Or if they tried to read his mind.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to sleep. That night, he dreamed of runes, and flying through a starless sky. Underneath it all, a cold fury burned.

* * *

**_Review Please!_**


	10. The Butterfly that lives a Day

**Authors Note: Things are moving faster. Perhaps two or three more chapters, and Harry will be heading towards Hogwarts. In some shape or form. This is my longest chapter yet, wow. Not sure what came over me. _Review Please._**

* * *

_If Time and Space, as sages say,  
Are things which cannot be,  
The sun which does not feel decay  
No greater is then we.  
So why, Love, should we ever pray  
to live a century?  
The butterfly that lives a day  
Has lived eternity._

_-T.S. Elliot_

* * *

He jumped into the research with a fervor never experience before. He literally could not get enough knowledge, enough practice. Mundane tasks like eating and bathing seemed to be done in a mental haze as his mind again and again went back to runes. He ignored Mr. Steel, and seemed to be ignored himself in turn. It no longer worried him. The man had shown up two days after the new moon with more books, on anatomy, health, and ancient Phoenician cuneiform. He had thanked him, and then returned to his study. Nothing seemed more important.

The only break he allowed himself to take was to fly. The joy of it had still not worn off. The boys, in the interest of 'helping Harry out', as well as simply wanting to spend time with him (_and isn't he acting strange?_ Tiny commented) had developed a game of sorts. Kerr had whittled a simple large wooden ring. The boys would stand in a circle, Harry hovering above, and randomly toss the ring into the air and to each other, all the while trying to keep it from Harry. Mike had tried to name the game Fetch, but Kerr had glared him down. Harry personally thought it was funny. The game was fun, and it was helping him learn to fly by leaps and bounds.

It also allowed him to spend time with just the boys. He had felt left out the since moving to the cottage, and now he was getting back into the normal ease that they used to have. Kerr was still over protective, Mike sarcastic and slightly harassing, and Tiny shy and energetic. Harry more and more did not want to leave, but knew it was inevitable. Where he would eventually go, the boys could not follow. He made a promise to himself to spend as much time with them as he could. He had a feeling that Kerr, and Mike as well to some extent, also recognized the feeling of inevitability.

* * *

It was finally the day of the full moon. Harry was not as nervous this time, but his heart was still beating fast. He dug into dinner with gusto, laughing along with the others. This time, there was no walk with Mr. Steel. A part of him was sad at that, but another part did not want to waste time with sentiment. His body burned with the desire to continue the runes, an almost physical pain. He reverently held Dread as he walked to the clearing, not bothering with the box. Dread no longer made him nervous, and he had begun to love the feel of it in his hand. He had found himself simply holding it last night, his mind going over and over the rune.

_Mem,_ the letter M. What a perfect idea. Too bad he had not come up with it himself. Magic, mind, magnificent. Harry felt himself grinning like a loon. Somewhere inside of himself he wondered if he was going a little bit crazy. The thought dispersed before it could even be considered as he stepped into the clearing. All that mattered now was the ritual.

_Mem._

Harry knelt in the clearing, his shoes removed at the edge of the woods. He hissed to Dread, awakening the intelligence inside the knife.

"_Cutting-snake, precious-snake, my great-fear-in-troubled-times."_

"_Speaker?"_

"_It is greatest-light."_

"_Yes."_

The hisses reverberated up his hand, the snakes staring up into his eyes. He felt himself losing his body, drifting along that invisible line of magic with barely a prompt. His magic was rejoicing inside of him, so happy to be used. He was Dread, the blade connected to him, staring out of two pairs of eyes at a boy's body. He took a moment to view it, consider it, his mind alight with ideas.

_Mem._

The rune seemed to speak for itself, unmade. The blade loomed closer, brushing back a stray lock of hair with a supple twist. It was all so easy.

Harry let the blade rest at the bottom of his odd lightning bolt scar. He thought of the wreck he never remembered, and was glad that finally the scar would have a use. A positive inflection. A protection of his mind, his memories, his thoughts. Like water, _Mem,_ like water, too fluid to grasp. Too dispersed in drops to gather up, too much of an ocean to hold. His mind within his magic like water, ever flowing, ever changing its form but staying the same. No wizard could see it, no wizard could touch it. _It was not even really there._

With that last thought, the cut began. The skin on the forehead was so thin, to bleed so much. He was vaguely aware of it running down his face, of the burning pain beginning to spread. The knife zigged and zagged three times, following the scar._ Mem_. At the top, a second pause, then a quick slash over his left eye, at the edge of the hair line and heading into his scalp. It stayed in his skin only a second before the knife abruptly released him, and Harry came to himself. The snakes on the handle caught at his hands, hissing in agitation, and Harry gasped.

"_Mem."_

When it happened, it was sudden. So sudden it was instantaneous. Harry gasped out the name of the rune, and a memory he had not remembered rose up. The black hole in his skull, the magic drinking circle he had cut off. An alien intelligence grasped at his magic, at his mind, hungry, so hungry. It had been starving, there in his head, too weak and too small to fight, but now, with its desire so close,_ so close,_ and it was wounded, it hurt, it _wanted._

Harry could barely think fast enough, ideas spinning through his head, fighting and snatching back his magic from the sphere. What was this? It was no part of him! At that thought, Harry felt the rune on his head burn, its magical connection tenuous in its newness. He fought harder, keeping himself from the sphere, moving around it, unwilling to let it touch his self. How to get rid of it? _How?_ It was in his bloody head!

He imagined his mind as the water he wanted it to be, and wished so much that the rune was active immediately. He did not have time! The sphere shrieked through him, raging, desperate. A single breath of magic was touched, stolen.

_I will have you, boy. I will have your being. I will eat your death, boy, I will eat victory._

The words echoed through himself, bringing with it fear and pain. He wanted to scream, and did. The sound brought him to himself, and with a final desperate thrust, he gathered his magic and punished the sphere from his mind entirely. He hazily opened his eyes, seeing a black darkness fleeing in the night. He immediately shut them again, falling to lie on his side on the ground. He was tired, so tired.

He made himself look at his mind. The residue left behind by the sphere was still there. Strings of a foreign light glittered around his mind. He made himself touch them, bring them to himself. Without considering the repercussions, he made the light a part of himself, soaking it into his own sun. He immediately felt a bit better, the tiniest bit recovered. He was so tired.

He cracked an eye open, looked down at Dread, still wrapped around his hand. _He should do something about that._

_Mem._

He fell into darkness.

* * *

"Is it ever going to let go?"

"That thing is scary!"

"I can't believe it _moves_."

"Well, duh, it's _magic,_ dolt."

"I know that!"

The voices brought him back to a hazy weakness. He tried to focus, moved his head the tiniest bit.

_"He's awake!"_

"Harry!"

He tried to focus his eyes, and abruptly could see clearly as someone put his glasses on his face. He stared up at the concerned face of Kerr, before Tiny pushed his way over.

"Are you okay? You should have seen yourself! You were..."

"Shut it!"

Mike hisses, interrupting Tiny. Harry figured he already knew what the boy had been about to say. Kerr smiled and offered Harry some breakfast, which he dug into with gusto. He was starving!

"You've been asleep most of the day. It's almost super, actually. Mr. Steel is down making it. He told us to watch out for you."

Kerr smiled reassuringly.

"You don't have to tell us, but, is that normal? We all heard you, well, the noise you made. It was all we could do to wait for Mr. Steel to let us go out to you. He made us wait until morning just in case, and you were just lying there..."

He drifted off. Harry swallowed his bite, and washed it down with water. He tried to think of a good way to respond.

"No, that's not normal. Or at least, not that I know of. Something... went wrong. I'm not sure I can explain. I just..."

"It's okay! No problem. Just, you know, we were worried. All of us."

The boys all looked earnest at that, and more than a just a little worried. He was trying to reassure them when Mr. Steel's voice drifted up from below. Tiny scampered off to tell him Harry was awake, the other boys following after an encouraging nod. Harry closed his eyes. He knew it wouldn't be long.

He was right.

Mr. Steel slowly walked into the room, lowering himself into the chair by the bed. His kind eyes looked him over, before nodding to himself.

"Something went wrong, sir. I'm not sure, but, it seemed as if something... something was inside me. Something that wasn't me. And when I put the rune in... It tried to take me over, almost. Like it wanted to, well, eat me! And, I'm pretty sure it's gone now, but, I, I don't know for sure. It left behind some of itself, but not the intelligent part. Just some sort of magic."

Mr. Steel thought for a moment, his brows drawn together.

"I can not even begin to counsel you in this matter, Harry. You alone can decide whether it is worth the risk of continuing. This is not a usual occurrence, of that I am sure, based on our studies. Still, you obviously defeated this... darkness. Or whatever it was."

"Darkness describes it pretty well, I guess. It was like... The absence of light. Only, it had teeth, and grasping claws. I think, I think it even spoke, once. It's all kind of fuzzy."

He lifted his hands in confusion, only to have something catch his eye. How could he not have noticed Dread? The knife was still twined around his hand, the snakes staring up into his face.

"Ah, yes. The knife never released you. We had to be careful moving you to never touch it. I think it was insulting us, actually."

Harry could believe it. He started to speak, but stopped, remembering Mr. Steel's reaction last time. The man seemed to follow his thoughts.

"Ah, yes, well, I'll be hopping down to get some dinner before the boys eat it all. I'll send one up with a plate for you in the morning. Just try to rest, now. You are sure you are alright?"

Harry simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was afraid he would say something sappy and childish. Or he would ask for a hug. Neither of those were appealing options. Mr. Steel left the room with a smile.

He turned back to Dread.

"_You are a faithful friend."_

Harry was shocked that the words sounded almost normal.

"_Master, you had not given us to stillness, and we obey you in all things, all times, all places."_

He tried not to smile, but couldn't help it. The thing was so fancy and formal. Was the person who made it the same?

"_I have no memory of speaking to you after slicing-the-softest-place on darkest-night."_

_Ugh._

"_The magic-blood-life left us, the path having been taken. On brightest-light, this was not so. Even still, it courses through us."_

Harry frowned, and with a bit of concentration brought into his mind the light of his magic. It was much dimmer than normal, burdened with another draw that centered on his forehead. A single strand of light glittered between his chest and the ritual blade. He immediately drew the light back from the blade, letting it coil inside himself once more.

When he opened his eyes, Dread was still and silent. He sighed. In a way, it was comforting to talk to the object. He briefly considered finding a real snake to talk to before tossing that idea from his mind. The other boys would have a fit.

* * *

Things returned to normal, as normal as it was anyway, pretty quickly. The boys made jokes, Mr. Steel looked kind and grave, and Harry studied. Sometimes, he flew. Mostly, he thought about runes.

He had begun to realize that even if he wanted too, he would not be able to stop working on the set. It was a compulsion almost magical in nature. The runes wanted to be complete, and wanted to be active. As of now, they were in a sense working, but not to their fullest capacity. Once the seventh was complete, they would all immediately respond.

The book described a down period of several days after the initial surge, as it would be very draining on a magical core. Harry would most probably be weak for days. It didn't help that Harry already felt weak, and he was only two runes into the set. His mind seemed a bit fuzzy, and he found himself thinking about things in a different way, and approaching problems from a different direction. He blamed it on the mind rune. His thoughts came faster, and sometimes it seemed he was drowning in information.

Seven runes to a set, and seven sets to complete the ritual. Not every ancient wizard completed the ritual. Though runes liked to exist in a set, the sets did not give a compulsion to exist in sevens. Many stopped at three, or four. However, there was a limit of seven. In total, forty -nine runes. Any more than that, and the magic would get out of sync, and weird outcomes would result. The runes would go awry, and spells would stop working, or worse start reacting in unexpected and dangerous ways.

Harry at this point could not even imagine completing more than one set. He felt so drained, all the time. He kept telling himself that it had only been three weeks now. It felt like a lifetime.

His mind circled back around to runes again, like it always did lately. He was getting a more complete picture of what his set was going to be. Of the runes, there would be the two types. Those that were constantly active, drawing on magic, and those that were passive, only activating when called. So far both runes were of the active type, as Ankh had to be, and Mem needed to be to protect his mind. His next rune would be the first passive one.

_Heth. _

It was the letter H, and could be translated into Fence. He would make it into a barrier against foreign magic. He did not want it active all the time, for one because there were some beneficial magic's that he would want to leave himself open to, healing spells for instance. The rune would be a boundary, a bulwark that he could call on when needed. He would use its name to activate it, _Heth_. Much like a spell. It had so many advantages over a simple spell though. The magic to create it would already be in place, so it would cost him nothing to implement. It would stay constant until he released it. And it would work against whatever was thrown against it. Harry imagined it something like an invisible bubble, not just surrounding him, but under his feet and over his head as well. That was a necessity, especially if the shield was needed during flight. He did not want to leave any part of himself undefended.

He knew he was probably leaving something out. The idea was by no means perfect. He knew that, in time, he would probably find gaps in his defenses. He had read that no plan of action survives contact with the enemy.

But this would be a pretty good plan, at least.

* * *

Harry dived steeply, catching the wooden ring on his outstretched foot.

"Cheater!"

Tiny crowed.

"Oh, you're just sore because he pulled it off with no hands!"

Tiny grumbled at Mike's comment. The game was getting a bit easy for Harry. Fetch had been fun at first, but after getting used to flight, it was no sweat.

"How about this, skinny. Have you heard of Dodge ball?"

He landed with a soft thump, shaking his head.

"Well, you better get back up there, runt!"

At that, the wooden ring was thrown straight at him, clunking him over the head.

"Oww!"

* * *

Harry rubbed a bruise on his side, grinning. Dodge ball had indeed been a challenge, especially once Tiny joined in with another wooden ring. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, neither object had survived contact with his wings. Harry had left them having a heated discussion about what objects could survive contact with the steel feathers. He himself would just need to concentrate on keeping his wings soft while they were playing. He found that it took less effort and simply more concentration, which was something he was running low on. It was only a few days until he would do the next rune.

The last week and a half had flown by as he worked, played, and worked some more. The compulsion had only gotten stronger, working into his every waking thought, and even most of his dreams. He felt bombarded. Already he had taken to checking his knife several times a day, to make sure it was still there. He had had a nightmare that the knife had disappeared, and he had been unable to complete the rune. He had woken in a cold sweat.

Still, things overall were great. He had his family, his magic, and a task. Boredom was a thing of the past. The only dim spot was Mr. Steel himself. He was almost like a specter of doom, always hovering but never inquiring into his progress. The man said he was content for Harry to figure it out on his own, but he acted differently. Harry just wished he would spit out whatever was bothering him. The man had been like a father to him for the last year and a half. He hated that this magic was creating boundaries between him and the rest of the house. He also hated the anger that seemed to lurk inside of him. Ever since the first rune he had felt it, a rising inadequacy, a jealous, vindictive feeling. At times it seemed aimed at the older man, at times at himself.

He did not like being angry, which only made him all the more angry about it. The only respite he could gain was while flying. Something about the exercise brought him out of his dark thoughts and brought him joy and clarity. He shuddered to think what he would deviate into if he lacked that escape. Perhaps he should mention that to Mr. Steel sometime. The magical tattoo had not been mentioned, but its existence was the start of all the changes in their lives. The boys had accepted it and him wholeheartedly. They even seemed to be proud of him. But Mr. Steel was an enigma to Harry. He could not tell how the man felt.

* * *

Another new moon. Thirty days, one month, since the first rune. It seemed a lifetime ago, and yet, no time at all. Harry was excited about this latest rune, as it was the first of his own design. Heth consisted of two diagonal cuts with another diagonal one tying the two together. It was simple, as all the others had been as well. It was the one he found the most potential in, as it would be real tangible defense against an enemy. That was also one of the reason he wanted to go ahead and place it. He would put it on his left palm, using the scar from the ritual knife as one of the diagonal bars.

This time, he went flying first. The other boys had seemed even more nervous than ever, though he could not blame them for worrying after the last time. He had had no desire to sit through another awkward meal, and so had skipped out to fly off some of his own nervousness. As excited as he was, what had happened with Mem was the stuff of nightmares. To have another being living inside of him, leeching off his own self... he shuddered.

With a turning twist he allowed himself to drop down into the clearing, landing with a neat puff of dust. He smiled, glorying in his flight. He figured that feeling would never wear off completely, and there was just something about a neat landing that made him extremely happy. Not to mention it was less painful.

He rose up his left arm to his face, looking into the glittering eyes of Dread. He had awoken the snake earlier, telling it to wrap itself on his arm so that he could fly without having to hold it. The knife had complied immediately, the snakes wrapping around his arm, holding the blade parallel with his wrist. He figured once he got older that might not work as well, but for now it was perfect.

"_It is darkest-night, release the coil and cut-sharp for me."_

Hisses greeted his ears as Dread unwounded itself, the snakes twining into his open palm, the blade once more straight out. He did not wait for conversation this time as he immediately cast out his magic, connecting to the knife with the most ease he had had so far.

_Heth._

He wanted a shield, an impenetrable barrier to protect him. It would be invisible, solid, complete. No gaps, no holes, no dints. _Heth_, a fence around himself, a barrier between his body and the outside world. Always waiting under his skin for the chance to be released, for the word to set it free: _Heth_. It would not only block the magic, but sink it into his own, making it a part of his own light, his own constellation.

_Heth, Heth, Heth._

A quick slice of the knife across his old scar on his left palm, another parallel to it. A pause, an indrawn breath, _Heth._ He drew the blade slowly between the lines this time, reveling in his magic rising up, seeking out this new thing. He saw the strand of light unfurl, not quite touching, waiting.

"_Heth."_

A new star, shining against the light. He was himself again, Dread now in his right hand, jubilant. His magic was again stretched, and he had forgotten how bad it was after a new rune. It was like wearing a constant jacket filled with heavy weights, and even as the body acclimated to one weight, more would slowly be added over time, again and again, the body getting stronger and weaker in its turn. He would recover, until another rune was added. The euphoria of the new rune was beginning to wane, bringing with it a deep ache in his chest. He felt like he could sleep for a week.

"_Sleep a deep sleep; I will speak to you when light returns to the sky."_

Not the best way to say a few days from now. Something was definitely lost in translation. He tried to make a mental note to attempt to teach the blade some real words. Might be hard though to explain to a snake what the difference between 'tomorrow' and 'week' and 'month' were. Could snakes even count? At that thought, Harry brought himself to his feet, wobbling a bit, before setting off home. He supposed this was better than last time, but he would give his arm to have back the feeling from the first rune, that feeling of overwhelming power and clarity. Perhaps that was just a side effect of Ankh. He rubbed that scar, tracing its outline though his shirt, as he climbed up the stairs and fell into bed.

* * *

It seemed the ritual was no longer an odd thing. Funny, how a person could get used to the strangest things in only a relatively short amount of time. Life simply moved on, and it would all seem a dream if Harry did not have the scars to remind him of it. Harry did not talk to any of the others about his runes or his future plans. Mr. Steel and he only went over wizarding books, ideas, spells and culture. At least once every few days the man would bemoan his lack of books on wizarding politics. The boys just practiced their school work, did their chores, and acted the way children were supposed to do. Only, Kerr was almost an adult. Harry had noticed that he drove to town pretty often, and suspected that he had a 'significant other' in Cheddar. None of the others teased him about it though, so either they did not know, or they did not want to bother him about it. Harry, knowing Mike, was leaning towards the former.

Harry rested his head against his desk, idly drawing on a piece of paper. He knew what his next to runes would be. Ayin, or Eye. It was not technically a letter at all, but more of a symbol, or perhaps a punctuation mark. It consisted of a simple round circle. He had thought long and hard before deciding to do one for each of his eyes. The things just reeked of being singular, and he just had a feeling that to get the effect he wanted, it would take two. He would do one on the full moon, and the other the new moon after.

He wanted to be able to see magic. He had read of the hundreds of different ways for wizards to hide themselves. Invisibility cloaks, spells, camouflage spells, notice-me-not spells, blending spells, the list went on and on. And for each category, there were even more types, and counter curses, and a few thousand all-seeing spells. It would be nearly impossible to know them all, and protect against them all. However, if he had a rune tied to his eyes, to be able to see _clearly... _that would work. To see the truth of something, that's what he needed. If a wizard was under a cloak or spell, he would see. They would not be able to sneak up on him, at least not in that respect.

After studying his anatomy books, and reading about the lack of literal meaning in his runic books, he had decided to place the two runes on either side of his head, right before his ears and into his hairline. He would need to shave his head a bit, but it would grow back. He would make them small circles, nothing big. As small as he could cut it.

He lifted his head, looking at his palm. Heth looked as if it had been there for years, not just a week. He whispered its name.

"_Heth."_

He felt the magic tied inside it expand dimly, a ghost of itself. It would not truly work until the set was complete, but still, it was neat to see it respond. He enjoyed the feeling it gave him. As his magic got stronger, he had more energy, and had found that he could connect more light to a rune, making it more powerful. He was not sure if he would ever actively try to improve his runes, but it was an idea to keep in mind.

* * *

The round moon glowed overhead as Harry tapped the blade against his shin. Mike had gotten a bit too much enjoyment out of shaving the right side of Harry's head, and in his opinion had taken a bit more hair than necessary. He looked like a one-sided clown. He sighed, waiting a few more seconds. It was as if an internal clock dictated the right time to start. The clearing was never totally silent at night. Owls hooted, bats chattered, and bugs creaked and crooned and clacked. He could just listen to it for hours, never hearing the exact same sound. A vast array of communication that he could never hope to understand. He looked down at Dread, a wordless hiss lilting from his mouth. The snake's hooded heads rose up, looking into his eyes.

He found communication to be less and less needful, but more and more comforting. He knew the item was just that, an object, but at times it was almost like a friend. Perhaps it was simply that the more he used the knife, the more it became attuned to his magic. The blade glowed to his sight now, and more and more the snakes seemed alive, from the way they moved to the gleam on their tricolor scales. The inset stones seemed more like hardened skin, the eyes lit from within by an intelligent flame.

"_Speaker, you lack flight."_

Oh, _yes_. Harry closed his eyes and allowed his wings to slide forth, sighing in relief. Holding them in too long would cause the ever present itch to get more and more urgent, eventually resulting in a burning sensation alike to sticking a limb into a fire. He never let it go that far, always stretching them out in his room, or flying off at night. He had not been able to get out the last few days, and it was nice to let them simply furl around him. The silver on the feathers gleamed slightly, the moon reflected back dimly.

"_Giving-great-fear-in-troubled-times, come and taste the night air. It is greatest-light."_

Harry had come to accept the fact that snakes did not consider smell to be something done with a nose, but instead a thing to be tasted. It was odd how his mouth seemed to know these things when it spoke, but it took his mind a few minutes to figure it out. A snake's point of view was much different than his own. Dread coiled in his arm, then his mind, the light there before he even consciously willed it.

He allowed himself to slide behind Dread's eyes, to think like the snakes, feel like the snakes. He was polycephaly, seeing from four eyes with two minds. He raised the blade in his coils, elongated his body, twisting the fragile wrist beneath his scales to lift the blade towards the right side of the head.

Ayin, the Eye, the silent letter of the alphabet, never spoken, only implied. It would let him see clearly, see beyond the outer illusions into the inner truth.

He placed the blade against the side of his face, gently tracing a circle, round and round, not cutting yet just thinking, thinking.

_Ayin sees, but does not speak. The truth of things, reflected through a glass, clearly. _

_Ayin._

"_Ayin."_

Even as he spoke the word with lips that were not his own, the blade carved within his grasp a circle, a square with infinite corners and possibilities, a tiny scar just within the hairline. Barely a drop of blood dotted the knife.

He opened his true eyes, letting Dread slide from his mind. Everything was thrown out of focus, and for a minute he reeled before closing his eyes again. _What on earth?_

He cracked open his eyes, taking a moment. He reached up to his glasses, before rubbing his right eye. It was strangely fuzzy, as if he had sleep stuck in it. He squinted, before standing up with a confused sign. Even as he tried to take a step he shifted his weight wrong, the ground farther away that he thought, and he stumbled and fell to the ground. _Ugh._

He pulled off his glasses with a frustrated grunt, only to have the problem reverse itself immediately. Suddenly the truth knocked him over the head, and he could have slapped himself for not considering this outcome. Only one eye, his right, was affected by the ritual. Now, his prescription was thrown off! The right eye was not just seeing magic clearly, but everything clearly! Somehow, without intending to, he had just managed to correct his own eyesight! The possibility jumped into him, his mind alight with ideas. Marvelous!

He found himself laughing, Dread still and quiet in his hand. _This was amazing!_

* * *

_Or maybe not so amazing._ Harry groaned as he threw himself down into a chair at breakfast. He had already tripped on the stairs, ran into fifty million small obstacles, fell out of bed, cut himself on a steak knife, and he was pretty sure he had a broken toe. The boys had not stopped laughing since the day before, when the whole episode had kicked off to a loud start, literally; Harry had attempted to help Tiny collect eggs, only to stick his hand under the rooster instead. Needless to say, nobody had been happy with that situation, least of all the rooster.

He was amazed how much his balance was thrown off, and flying was totally out of the question for the next two weeks, until he could cut in the rune for his left eye. He had left his glasses upstairs, preferring to use his new and improved right eye. He had taken to walking around the house with his hand covering his left eye, trying to keep things in focus. Reading was a horrible chore, as his good eye quickly began to feel strained.

Kerr and the boys stomped downstairs, laughing and joking at something Mike had in his hands. When the boy fixed a smirk on Harry, he felt his stomach drop. _What on earth now?_

Mike sauntered over, his grin widened into a full out evil smile. He then walked behind Harry, and quickly slipped a piece of cloth over his left eye and tied it behind his head. Kerr and Tiny about died laughing, and Mike was trying to take a picture.

"I see we have a pirate in our midst."

Mr. Steel smiled tolerantly, eyeing the cloth. Harry felt his face begin to burn red, before he too gave in and laughed. Now he knew what they were up to! He stood up and eyed himself in the mirror. It did look just like an eye patch, which was funny in more than one way. He could appreciate the humor, especially since most of his lower body was turning black and blue from running into things. Well, at least he wouldn't have to hold his hand up anymore. He would keep wearing it, if only to spite Mike, who he thought had expected him to get angry. He laughed again at the perturbed look on Mike's face.

* * *

At the beginning of April, a week before the next new moon, Harry came to an abrupt realization. He was more than halfway done with this set of runes. _Ankh, Mem, Heth, Ayin._ Four of seven, done. Only three more to go. Another _Ayin_, obviously. Then it would be time for_ Zayin_, Weapon. That one was going to be tricky. After that, for the final seventh rune, Harry was still uncertain. He wanted to do something to improve his actual body. After seeing how Ayin had improved his eyesight, he found himself wanting other things as well. He already had a rune for defense, and he was planning a rune for offense. What was something many wizards did not focus on?

Their physical shape. They had spells for so many things, and relied on their magic for both defense and offense. If a wizard was deprived of its wand, they were helpless. Harry never wanted to be in that situation. He was thinking of something to do with strength, or speed, or maybe even just improving his reflexes or response time. His memory could always be better, though he was still getting over how Mem had changed his thought process.

Suddenly it seemed Harry had a million different ideas, and could only pick a single one. It was beyond frustrating. And to pick the wrong one would be a mistake to live with for a lifetime. He shook his head, and told himself to simply concentrate on the next two. They had a way of working themselves out. He lifted Dread from its box, running his finger over the winged snake on the blade. He had looked it up in one of the wizarding books on magical beasts.

A Quetzalcoatl was a South American magical snake, not native to Europe. It confused Harry to see a creature such as that carved into a blade that seemed very British. The snake could only survive in warm, humid environments. It was revered by the Mayans, and still had its own religion today by Muggles in Mexico. It had feathers instead of scales, and great wings that would carry it into the trees to escape danger and seek out prey. They normally hunted alone, but would live in nests with other members of their species. He wondered why the winged snake would be carved into the blade, but the snakes that consisted of the handle were the more well-known cobra. He figured it had something to do with the magic of the ritual blade. Nowhere he read had had any information on that.

The section of the book on ritual knives had not been clear. It said that a ritual knife could have any animal represented on it, only that it be a mundane and not magical animal of itself. Which explained the cobras and not some magical breed like runespoor or basilisk. But why the picture of a Quetzalcoatl? He shook his head, and put the knife back down. The thing was about a foot long total, the blade portion only five inches. He had found himself more and more often wanting to carry the thing around with him, the worry of losing it getting more and more paranoid. He made himself close the lid, stand up, and walk away.

He needed to eat, take a nice long shower, and sleep. Only a week and he could finally put away this goofy eye patch. He found himself smiling at the thought.

* * *

Once more he was in the clearing, this time with the sky dark as pitch. It was overcast and dreary, and not a single star peaked through the clouds. He was shivering cold, and wore an extra coat. This was just the sort of awful weather to start out what was supposed to be a springy May. He grumbled to himself, before reluctantly pulling off the glove on his left hand, awakening Dread with a quick hiss.

"_Evil weather for hatchlings."_

The snakes commented to themselves. As if summoned, a droplet of rain plunked nearby. It was the signal for a downpour to start. Harry almost howled in annoyance. This sucked! Didn't the magical gods that be, or _whatever,_ know an important ritual was going on down here? _Argh!_

He flung magic towards the knife, aggressively pouring himself into it. He was going to get this over with as quickly as possible. He was already soaked straight through. He tried to get his mind into the right place.

_Ayin._

Left eye, to see clearly, as a brother to the right eye, to be equals in sight. To see through illusion, to see magic, to see truth.

He let the magic guide him to his left temple, and with finesse carved a quick circle. He did not pause to enjoy the magic this time. He snapped out the rune.

"_Ayin!"_

He then left the knife with a quick hiss of farewell.

"_And warm heat, please, next light." _

Dread got in the last parting comment, before the snakes froze in inaction once more. He grunted, ripping off the eye patch and standing up with a stagger. His wings were heavy! Soaked through with rain, they felt like they weighed a ton. He brought them in, and rain poured into the slits in the back of the jacket. He groaned in frustration, before giving it up and jogging quickly back to the house. He would enjoy his better eyesight later, when it wasn't so bloody horrible outside.

* * *

"_AAAAAAAACCHOO!"_

Harry blearily gazed over at Kerr. Mike and Tiny had written him off as contagious, which left Kerr to bring him up some lunch. Harry fell back on his bed with a groan.

"I _hate_ being sick. I hate it, hate it, _hate it!"_

Harry could not even enjoy his lack of glasses. He ached all over, had a horrible taste in his mouth, and was pretty sure he was running a fever. All because of that stupid rain!

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Harry. Even super awesome magical people get colds, apparently."

"_Ha. Ha. Ha."_

Harry quipped back at Kerr's comment, in no mood for humor. If he never got sick again, it would be too soon!

* * *

The completion of the second rune _Ayin_ had made things much better in the sight department, once Harry felt like getting up and moving around again. He left his glasses in the drawer, reveling in being able to walk around without them. He could see out of the corners of his eyes now, not just straight ahead like before when he was looking through thick glass. He still ran into things, it took some getting used to, but it was much, much better. He really couldn't see how _Ayin_ would improve once the set was complete. He already had perfect vision.

The cold had had a lasting impression, though. He did not want to go through that hell again. It had been years since he had been that sick. It had taken a good week to get over it, and now he only had a week to prepare for rune six. He had changed his mind, however. He was going to leave Zayin for last, because he had just had a shift in priorities. Namely, never getting sick again!

It had only taken a bit of thought to come up with his sixth rune in light of recent events. _Samekh,_ or support. It was a single vertical line, crossed with three horizontal ones. He would manipulate its meaning to be a literally support on his body, a magical line to help heal and strengthen his body. To allow him to escape from worse conditions, and recover faster if he succumbed to sickness. It would take more than one rune, he figured, to actually heal a variety of injuries and illnesses, but he could speed things up at least. Make them more efficient. And magic was definitely good for getting things done faster, he could tell that by the variety of wizarding spells out there.

The rune would channel magic into his system, allowing it to boost his health, making him heal faster, last longer, get less tired. A match made in heaven, as far as he was concerned.

* * *

He flew over the gorge, his eyes drinking in the magnificent sign below him. More and more often his night time flights took him over the space, its variety of plants and rocks always seeming new. He sometimes even flew low, low enough to appreciate the height of the gorge walls and the depths of the caverns. He loved to try and spot animals, a sleeping deer here, and flying owl there. He watched, and appreciated. He dreamed of visiting spaces like this all over the world. Of flying over the ocean, seeing huge lakes and waterfalls, exploring mountain ranges and valleys. He wanted to see, and see, and see, until his eyes got tired of seeing. And he wanted to do it during the day time.

He loved the night, loved the way the light reflected softly over the trees, but he sometimes wanted to see things during the day, when things were brighter. He wanted to fly through a blue sky, wanted to see his shadow on the ground. He knew that that was not possible yet, and perhaps never. Not unless he could find some way to make himself invisible, which was a feat he had not figured out yet. At least, not one that would hide his wings as well. The things seemed impervious to magic, both good and bad. Seeing wings with nothing attached flying around would probably freak some people out. He let an updraft bring him higher in the sky, almost touching a low cloud. He did not allow himself to actually enter it, having found that clouds and himself did not make a good combination.

It might sound fancy and cool to fly through a cloud, but the reality was cold, wet, and blind. After one time, he had had enough. He did not fly on heavily overcast nights, and he did not fly through clouds. Harry turned his wings toward home, beginning to feel tired. Flying was a strenuous exercise, and one he thoroughly enjoyed, but it left him tired at the end of the night. Or perhaps the beginning of the morning would be more accurate.

His thoughts had hovered lately at the knowledge that soon his set would be complete. And then, three months from now, he would be turning ten. He did not know, none of them did, whether the wizards would come for him then or not. He did not feel even a little prepared. He would only have two months to practice his runes before his actual birthday. Anything could happen. He knew Mr. Steel doubted it was the tenth birthday, more like eleventh or twelfth, but it did not hurt to be prepared.

The only things Harry could focus on were the runes, and his birthday. Everything else had left his mind. The compulsion to finish the runic set was almost painful, and his magic felt stretched out and thin. In all honesty, he was beginning to wonder how he was even functioning. The others had to remind him to eat, and all games had stopped. Harry simply could not concentrate. He landed in the yard, stretching his wings and back a few times before drawing them in and entering the house, quietly tip toeing up the steps and into his rooms. He figured by now the others knew he was sneaking out, and either did not care or did not think it was worth talking about. Probably both.

He opened the box on his desk again, taking out Dread and holding it close. He always wanted it near him now, paranoid almost to the point of violence over the thought of it disappearing. He knew, dimly, that it had to be some sort of magic making him feel this way, but he could not argue or fight with it anymore.

When he fell asleep that night, the snakes were curled tight around his forearm, the blade resting against his skin.

* * *

The day of the full moon came around two days later. The knife had not left his arm sense, and Harry had barely left his room. Kerr coaxed him down to breakfast, but Harry could barely eat. The other boys exchanged worried glances, but Mr. Steel held them off. The man had some idea of what was going on, and knew there was no help they could give him. All they could do was keep him healthy until the ritual was finished. The sixth rune tonight, and then two weeks from now, it was over. Then they could really start putting together a base plan for the end of July. Hopefully Harry would recover quickly, for time was of the essence now.

Throughout the day the boys took turns trying to keep Harry company, but eventually left him sitting at his desk, looking out his window towards the ritual circle. His thoughts went around and around, and in a haze time passed swiftly. Before he knew it the sun was setting behind the trees, and the moon was rising in the sky. Stars began to glitter, blue fading to purple turning to black. It was a beautiful sight, a beautiful sunset.

He stood resolutely, passing through the house like a ghost, heading out into the early night. He did not acknowledge the questioning tone of voice, his only thought on the moon. The greatest-light, the hour-of-becoming. Dread was hissing on his wrist, and when had it come alive anyway? His shed his shoes, his coat, his emotion. He had spent many hours thinking of where to put the rune. Healing always seemed centered in the body, something that needed balance and control. He had found it funny that Samekh, when combined with Mem, translated into Angel of Death. It seemed, then, only fair to write Samekh into the middle of his skull, above and near to Mem. He had not asked the boys to shave his head this time. Instead, standing outside the circle, he lifted Dread and drew it across his forehead, shearing the hair short and uneven. The blade cut hair as easily as it did skin. He then drew it close across the skin, leaving nothing but fine stubble in its place.

He did not care about how he looked. The magic had him deep in its grasp, the rune on his chest aching fiercely. _Ankh. Mem. Heth. Ayin._ All of them, burning. He fell to his knees in the center, tears welling behind his eyes. When he reopened his eyes, he was looking himself over, swaying back and forth, back and forth, a snake charming its prey to stillness. The blade was a part of him, his flesh and blood and steel, sharp as the feathers on his other self's back, deadly. He could feel the moon above him, a looming presence boosting his magic, pulling and pushing and twisting it into the desired form. In that moment, he loved the moon as he loved the night sky, and the stars, and the mother he could only remember in his nightmares as a single, high scream.

The knife was swift, falling down like the dew, soft and inevitable. Its touch curled back the skin, parted and let the _blood-magic-life_ through, let it into the light of the _mother-moon-scream._ One stroke down, for his_ body-self-magic_; three across for _healing_ and _strength _and _health._ _Samekh, _to support, to uphold, to lean upon. It would be hidden and always present, always active, always carrying forth its purpose.

"_Samekh."_

Light flooded the rune, sealing its purpose, sealing the skin into its shape. He gloried in it, in the light of the moon on his upturned face, in the light flooding from his soul. He was almost complete, he was strong and confident and ready.

And then, the fall.


	11. Fire or Fire

_**Authors Note: I have a beta now, **__**A Mistake**__**, and am going through the chapters from the beginning fixing some more grammatical errors and basically improving the flow of the story. One and Two are already edited. I went on and put up this chapter unedited so ya'll would know that is what the holdup is. Expect the updates to continue as soon as I'm through editing, which I update on my profile. Here's another long chapter. I post review responses and comments in my forum, the link is on my profile. Enjoy! **_

* * *

_Who then devised the torment? Love._

_Love is the unfamiliar Name_

_Behind the hands that wove_

_The intolerable shirt of flame_

_Which human power cannot remove._

_We only live, only suspire_

_Consumed by either fire or fire._

_-T.S. Elliot_

* * *

Perhaps the fall would not have been so bad if the height had not been so great. The rush of magic feeling every pore of his being, the runes burning painful pleasure across his skin. It was euphoria, a sensation hard to describe and harder to place. For a glorious second he was his magic, was a being made of light.

Then it was if a star had fallen, a missing link in his self-discovered, and the runes had rebelled, had fought, had attacked him in their discontent. His own magic turned against him, rending and tearing, an angry snake squeezing him in its coils. A punishment and a threat, the consequences of having an incomplete set. He had had the impression beaten in him that his magic was not his own until the runes were satisfied, the balance of magic weighed and measured. _Mene, Mene, Tekel, u-Pharsin._ To measure, to measure, to weigh, to divide. A phrase in Aramaic he had read before, the writing on the wall.

He had been measured and weighed and found lacking. Harry sighed, gathering in a lungful of air and letting it go slowly, closing his eyes. He was so bloody tired.

When the magic had finally let him go, he had only rested on his hands and knees, laying his sweaty head against his arms. His wings were gone, no magic left to even summon them. Dread was even silent, banished from his magic. He had no energy to move. He had waited there for hours, unable to rest, unable to move. When the air began to lighten, he painfully sat upright, feeling stiff and sore. Voiced began to move closer through the woods, coming from the direction of the house.

He looked up at the sky, light pinks and yellows and purples pushing back the darkness.

"_Harry!_ Oh Harry, are you okay? Can you walk? Harry? _Harry!"_

The voice, young and urgent, beckoned to him. He made himself look, turning his head inch by painful inch. He met eyes, uncomprehending. Everything seemed bright and fragile. Hands grasped him, lifting him up, steadying him. More voices conferred, back and forth, worried and frustrated and Harry just stared, unblinking, silent.

Finally strong arms lifted him, gathering him close as a voice let loose a stream of curses. He was carried through the wood, into the house, laid in bed. He was gently pressed back into the pillows, soothing sounds running together in his mind. He could not understand the words, only that someone was there, someone who loved him, someone who wanted him to be alright.

"Harry, my son, talk to me. Are you alright?"

More voices, more hands. Food brought and taken away. Still, he could not rest, his mind frozen in shock, his magic dribbling in slowly, a drop at a time, and he was angry and hurt and he just wanted to go to sleep and wake up and have everything make sense again.

Darkness began to creep into the room, shadows growing longer and larger and swallowing the light as it consumed the day. Harry closed his mind with his eyes, letting the darkness swallow him too.

* * *

When Harry awoke, the sun was streaming in through the window, lighting up small sparkles of dust that were floating in the air. For a second, he just watched them dance, letting his mind rest and drift. He was on his bed, the covers pulled up over his chest. Slowly, he lifted his right hand, feeling an extra weight attached to his forearm. Sun glinted off the polished scales of the red eyed cobra. He spent a moment considering the two headed snake, the green and red that twined together. Dread was silent and still, no magic connecting the two of them.

He lifted his hand the rest of the way, finally softly touching the hair on his head. He spent a minute considering, his mind unable to comprehend. His hair was as long and messy as usual. He pressed his fingers harder against his scalp, feeling the raised skin underneath the hair. _Semekh._

He remembered.

* * *

Harry slowly lumbered down the stairs, taking one step at a time. His body felt fragile, sensitive. He was hyper aware of every bruise and cut and scar on his skin. Never before had he understood the dangers of blood magic as he did in that single moment. His magic too was scarred, and refused to respond to his call. His wings were just a tattoo on the skin, pretty and elegant and useless. He followed the hushed voices coming from the other room, greeted with silence as he entered the kitchen. For a second they all paused, shocked to see him.

Then, as a wave would break on the shore, they all started forward at once, bombarding him with questions and queries about his health, his mind, his feelings. Harry found it hard to separate one voice from another, one word and thought from any of them.

He began to shake, and an authoritative hand pushed him into a chair, and silence reigned once more. When Harry looked up again, only Mr. Steel and Kerr remained in the room. Kerr stood, arms crossed, on the opposite side of him from Steel. The boy practically radiated a mixture of anger and concern. Mr. Steel's calm facade was broken, betraying a depth of worry the man had never shown before.

"Harry. This ritual, this... magic. It is too much. I have seen sense... have been shown sense."

The man glanced at Kerr, who glared right back. He continued.

"I do not know what happened, but... too much has went wrong already. Too many unplanned consequences. We cannot do this again. You should not have to go through this again. We will find another way. We will come up with something."

Kerr interrupted forcefully, his eyes earnest.

"Harry, please, listen. I know this, whatever this is, is supposed to protect you and us and whatever from the wizards, who may or may not be enemies, but please. The boys and I, we have been training too. We can protect you, I know we can. And we can protect ourselves too. These wizards, they do not seem to think much of us. They underestimate us. We can help ourselves. You do not have to do this anymore. It's not worth it! You could die!"

Harry blinked, feeling a bit in shock. The truth washed over him, and he accepted it. He could die. He could, but nothing in this world would stop him from cutting that last rune into his skin.

He started to talk, coughed, and had to clear his throat and start again. Another glass of water was pushing into his hands.

"I know. I realized this, last night, at some point. Nothing went wrong, this time, I do not think. It's just, it's the magic. It... has its own rules, its own desires of a sort. To break those rules is a fate worse than death. Last night or, whenever..."

"It's been two days!"

Kerr blurted out. Harry gulped, and nodded.

"Well, two nights ago, that was like, a warning. The runes, I've done six so far. And seven, well, that's the magic number, so to speak. My magic, its... well perhaps not gone, but... inaccessible. I cannot feel... anything. Until that seventh rune is complete, I do not think I will be able to go on. I will not be able to go on. I... _I have to,_ don't you see? I have to complete it. I have no choice."

Kerr looked angry, helpless. The boy, well, man now he supposed, could not argue with him.

Mr. Steel nodded.

"It is as I feared then. Well, once this runic set is complete, we will have more of an idea of what is going to happen if there is a next time..."

"There will not be a next time, sir! Don't you see? How on earth could you allow Harry to go through all this again? What is the purpose?"

"Kerr, I understand how you feel, I do not like it either, but Harry is already protected in ways we could never protect him ourselves. And if he goes into the wizarding world on his own, he will have defenses that others will not expect of him. If we want to be able to see him again, to keep in contact with him, this is the only way."

Kerr shook his head violently, before launching into another tirade. Harry did not bother listening, even if he was appreciative of the other boy caring about him. Mr. Steel understood just as Harry did, anything that he would have over the wizards was an advantage. None of them knew for certain what was going to happen. Harry would be there ears and eyes into the world. He would be able to tell them about its structure, its population, its heights and depths.

Harry had caught on to the fact that there must be other normal people in this scheme with Mr. Steel. The man had made vague comments about others, and he also somehow was still coming up with new material, even out here. And some of their own books would mysteriously disappear as well, usually after one of the many trips into town. Mr. Steel must be part of a network of people trying to figure out this secret world. Harry wanted to know their motives as well, and eventually would insist on it. Money? Weapons? Defense? Who knew?

Harry leaned back in his chair. Two weeks could not happen fast enough. He wanted his magic back, and he wanted to get on with his life. He wasn't sure about anymore sets of runes, but it would be him that would make that decision, no one else. And if the wizards came in two months, he would be ready for them as well. Perhaps not as ready as he would like, but more ready that he would be if he had known nothing of the wizarding world.

He looked up at the inquiring tone of voice. Kerr repeated himself with a frown.

"I asked, are you hungry? You've got to be."

He nodded thankfully. As the boy turned and walked over to the fridge, Harry saw that Mr. Steel had quietly disappeared.

* * *

It took another three days before Harry could focus on anything that mattered. Still, things were much harder. He felt like only half a person. He did not dare try to talk with Dread, who was still wrapped tight around his forearm. Instead, he planned Zayin, and attempted to catch the others in their own plans.

Kerr, Mike, and Tiny would all spend the morning together. He suspected it was target practice. Then, in the afternoon, they would closet themselves in with Mr. Steel. Eventually he simply asked the older man what they were up to.

"Plans, of course. For how we might defend this property. Where we will go, and how, if we need to flee. We will go over all this with you too, of course, once you have less on your mind. We all must be in this together."

Harry had to make do with that. No other information was forthcoming.

* * *

A week until the new moon. The same as when this all first began. Harry sat at his desk. He missed flying so much. It had helped ease his mind and body. Now, with no escape, all he had to grasp was the last rune. _Zayin. _ The letter Z, Weapon. It even looked like a Z, though perhaps one set on an angle. It would be carved on his right palm, the mirror to Heth. He had always been dominant in his right hand, and he figured that would also be his wand hand.

That seems to make all the more sense to put an offense rune there. Zayin, the seventh letter in the Aramaic alphabet, and the seventh rune on his skin. It could even mean the number seven in some contexts. A magic rune, if he had ever seen one. It was all so poetic.

He obsessed over _Zayin_, learning all its connotations and root words. The rune was almost paradoxical, for it was derived of the word for rest. What weapons and rest seemed to have in common eluded him at first, until he considered his own situation. Sometimes, a weapon of war was needed to accomplish rest, to be able to have peace. Zayin would not be a tool of revenge or evil, but a weapon to defend, a tool of righteous anger, of justice. To correct wrongs, to even the balance.

How odd it was that the number seven was revered even outside of magic. In the Hebrew language, which often used evolved forms of Aramaic and Phoenician, the number seven was the number of wholeness, of completion, of being blessed.

He, too, would be blessed once the seventh rune was completed. His set would be complete, his magic complete, and he would be blessed with their magic, their power.

His body thrummed with the thought, a ragged pulse running through his body.

_Zayin, Seventh, Weapon._

Over and over.

_Zayin, Seventh, Weapon._

* * *

When he woke up the morning of the new moon his magic was alive. It swirled like a conscious beast through the air, sniffing and snarling and purring and growling. It romped and groveled and made him laugh aloud with joy. He could not call it back into himself even if he wanted to.

When he came down the stairs, the boys stared transfixed. His magic showered sparks of light, tiny specks of green and purple and blue and red, every color of the rainbow, the air glittered. Tiny was the first to laugh, and then they all joined in. Mike was awed, and reached out a hand to touch. The magic changed, caressed, loved. The boy's face showed the most emotion Harry had ever seen, heartbroken and joyful all at once.

"Thank you, Harry."

His voice shook, and then he turned and left the room. Kerr and Tiny stared, before reaching out their hands in turn. Some of the same must have happened to them as well, because Tiny sat immediately, while Kerr turned several shades of red.

"It's like, wow. Like, I know how you feel. We are family."

The word love did not have to be said. Tiny hugged him, the magic singing in the air. The morning hours went by fast, his magic growing more and more bold. At lunch time, his wings released on their own, and the relief almost brought Harry to his knees. The burning he had been dealing with abruptly disappeared, and his magic rained down on him like a cool summer storm. His wings were sharp, then soft, turning back and forth faster than the eye could see. Mr. Steel suggested they move the party outside before damage was done.

Harry's magic grew more and more solid, at time a bird in the air, other times a cat crouched in the grass, always moving and exploring. They all watched it, in wonder. Harry told them he could not control it, and that while he knew the magic was happy at the nearness of the culmination to the ritual, he also knew that that happiness would quickly turn to rage if the set was not complete. What a physical magical presence would do if it was denied was not something Harry had to guess at. He imagined he would not walk away from the result unscathed.

Dinner time came and went, a hasty picnic outside as the sky began to darken. Harry smiled and talked about nonsense, enjoying the presence of the others. When the magic began to get increasingly frantic, he stood and turned his face towards the clearing, a tug almost physically tugging at his feet.

"Good luck, Harry. We will be waiting."

Mike spoke up, his voice calm. He said it as a statement, with no doubt that Harry would return. He smiled, before turning almost against his will and stepping away.

With each step, his magic grew closer, began to coalesce back inside himself. It prowled at his heels, and when he stepped into the clearing, it let out an unearthly howl to a new moon, to the _darkest-night._ It was then a part of him, and Harry felt as if his feet were barely touching the ground as he walked into the circle. He could not bring himself to sit, but stood, wings spread out behind him. He lifted his forearm to his eyes, looking Dread over in the darkness. The dagger had stayed around his arm the whole time, unable to be removed. Perhaps it was even a side effect of the ritual coming to completion.

"_Awaken, blade-of-mine, to the hour-before-it-all-ends."_

At his hiss the scales shifted, the heads began to sway, steel tongues flicking out to taste the air. Red and green flashed, and the blade lifted from where it had rested against his skin. He felt its loss, and reveled in it.

"_We wait, winged-speaker. We wait on your magic-light, to taste the magic-blood-life, to tear-the-softest-place, to create anew the balance of darkest-night and greatest-light."_

Harry found himself smiling wildly, relieved to hear their odd speech and ritualistic words. He looked within himself; saw his light arching across his body in patterns he could not understand. For how long he stood there, he could not say, just skimming along the magic and feeling its power. His runes began to burn again, their light increasing by the minute as magic streamed to them. His heart beat heavily, struggling with the load. Harry opened his eyes, knowing the light glowed from behind them. It was almost time.

At once he seemed to be looking out, and again looking him over, and now it was three pairs of eyes that saw, three heads that thought, and his coils tightened and his hands clenched and his scales shifted and his wings spread and he was a creature of light, he was his own sun shining.

"_Ankh."_

At the word, his heart thumped heavily, and his breath left his body.

"_Mem."_

Again, a stutter, a heartbeat.

"_Heth."_

It was burning, his skin and his lungs and his magic.

"_Ayin."_

Another stutter, another thump, and he felt as if his heart would beat out of his chest, would drum into the ground.

"_Ayin."_

Another for the other, brothers in runes, at once one rune and two. If he had still had his vision he would've lost it then, as spots gathered together and darkness bled through his body as his lungs struggled to breathe.

"_Samekh."_

Oh, the power, the sixth rune, the catalyst. The point of no return. He felt a scream building within himself, and forced it down with pure will. His eyes turned to his right palm, held open before him like a sacrifice. Giving-great-fear-in-troubled-times shifted, hisses spilling forth, steel moving and grinding against itself, the point of the blade resting against the softest-place.

The number seven, the greatest number of all. The numerical value all magic desired to be present in, the weight and balance of the world. For a weapon in defense of peace, his own and those he loved, to bring rest, to bring justice. A weapon whose form was morphed, ever changing to meet the need, but always there, always sharp, always waiting.

_Weapon. Seven._

A quick slash, down and over and up across and down again, as neat as writing with a pen, the ink blood that spilled up and over, running down the wrist and the arm and dripping from the elbow, liquid power given to the earth.

"_Zayin."_

Seven runes, seven magics, seven spells, seven scars, seven times blood spilt in this place, seven times magic and life given to the moon and the air and the ground.

His magic rumbled, it howled, it sung, exultation at its highest point, the culmination of all the struggle. He was aware of Dread wrapping itself back around his forearm, of the pain of its fangs sinking into his wrist, the sharing of life and power. The runes across his body no longer burned, they seared, open again and then closed, a reiteration of the last three and a half months. Seven nights, four with a dark moon and three with light. The light within him leaped, and he leapt with it, spinning into the air in a glory of flight, his heart beating in time with his wings. His eyes beheld at once far and near, a magic of its own, and everything seemed created anew and ancient at the same time. He was a new creature from an ancient world, the only of his kind.

He flew until dawn began to lighten the sky, his own strength dwindling as it grew stronger. He landed in the yard with a running bound, each step weighted more than the other as he approached the door. He carried himself of his own power up the stairs, past the others anxiously waiting for him, into his room, closing the door with a quiet snick. He breathed in and out, letting his heartbeat slow, letting his magic slide from his grasp at last. He felt free for the first time in months, his thoughts truly his own at last. The compulsion from the ritual was gone, and in its place clarity.

He slid off his clothes and sat on the bed, looking down at Dread looped around his arm. The cobra's fangs were buried in his wrist, and it was beginning to ache fiercely. The eye gleamed up at him, and he realized that the thing was not even dormant.

"_Release me."_

The hiss spilled from his mouth, and the dagger immediately complied, lifting its heads up with a bit of a sulk. The four puncture holes sealed instantly, and he saw they were the exact same as the ones he had had before, when the knife was first bonded to him. He shook his head. How was he supposed to tell the snake that he might never call it again? Or if he did, it would be months and months from now? Perhaps likening it to the seasons, winter and summer, would help. Did it even matter?

"_Sleep for me, sleep the deep sleep of coldest light and soft snow. It will be warm again before I need you."_

As the motion stilled and the magic left the knife, Harry put it in its chest for the first time in over a month. He no longer felt that constant need to have it by his side. He slid the chest under the bed with a final caress, before falling back on his bed.

He was tired, but it was the clean kind that came about from being up all night, not the bone-deep weariness he had walked around in lately.

He slept.

* * *

The soft knock at his door woke him up.

He came awake instantly from a dreamless sleep. Strength filled him as he easily swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. It was dark outside, and he assumed it must be about dinner time. The smells wafting from outside the door confirmed his theory.

"Harry?"

A soft voice, afraid to wake. He smiled and opened the door, about causing Tiny to fall flat on his face. The boy hopped back with wide eyes, gaping.

"Harry! you're awake! I thought, I mean, we thought you might like food but we didn't want to disturb you, and you've been so tired and weak and I thought, well, you would be too tired but they said to offer food and.."

Harry laughed and stopped the flood of words with a gesture.

"I'm fine! Better than fine, actually. I'm starving!"

The boy grinned and led the way downstairs, greeted with shouts of surprise.

"Harry!"

"Harry, you are awake!"

The boys practically jumped him, talking quickly and asking questions. Mr. Steel saved him when he entered the room, a quiet calm presence.

"Let him eat boys! He can tell us all about it at the dinner table."

Dinner was a loud and happy affair, the mood lightened greatly. Harry tried to explain as best he could the details, but most of it was incomprehensible. How to explain magic as light, runes as constellations, his body as a living sky? It would make no sense without showing it, and how could they understand, being magicless? Would it only make them regret what they had never had?

"Well, at least that creepy knife is gone. I mean, I swear that thing wanted to bite us or something."

"Oh, come on, it just wanted to be friendly!"

Mike teased Tiny, who rolled his eyes dramatically. Harry was suddenly struck anew by how much he would miss them when he had to leave, and the fervent hope that he would have another year with them.

Dinner was finished, dishes cleaned, and everyone went their separate ways. Harry found himself hovering in the door of Mr. Steel's office, watching the man at his desk. He had a computer now, a slim compact thing, and was steadily typing away. The man looked up and gestured Harry to a seat. He closed the door behind him. For a second he sat there in silence, putting his thoughts in order.

"Sir. I feel much better, now that the set is complete. My mind is clear for the first time since beginning. I know why we did what we did, and now my mind is protected. No one can take information from me without my consent, and even then it might be difficult. My magic is stronger, my body is stronger. Against my peers, I will have significant advantage. What is our next goal, truly?"

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

Harry watched him a second, before looking down at the desk, suddenly nervous.

"I know there must be more. More people in on this, whatever this is. All the evidence points to you not working on your own. You don't have to tell me."

He said the last quickly as Mr. Steel began to interrupt, before continuing.

"I figured this whole... thing... with me. It's so you can find out more information about the wizarding world. More than you all know now. A true inside source, who can ask questions and not be suspected. I'm okay with that. I understand the motives, truly, I do. The things I've learned already... well, I can understand. But what now, with me, sir? What do_ I _do now?"

Mr. Steel leaned back, contemplative. It was a few minutes before he spoke, slowly, as if weighing each word spoken.

"I suppose it is up to you, Harry. You have access to all my accumulated books and items. You can study them, if you so choose. If we find you are staying with us another year, i plan on resuming the regular school work with you, Tiny, and Mike. Math, English, and so on. Kerr will take his tests this summer, and his life is in his own hands. If you decide to participate in another ritual set, that is your decision. I will neither forbid nor encourage it. You know the risks well enough now. You have my support, Harry. Anything I can do for you. I regret any ill feelings caused the last few months. I would like to make it up to you."

The man's face betrayed nothing, and he sat upright and stiff. Harry was not sure what he should say to that, if anything was required.

"Well, okay. Okay. I guess that's it, then. I guess I would like some time off, to... play. To enjoy being here, with everyone, just in case. Then, well. If I ever do another set, it will not be anytime soon, I need time to... get used to my own magic again. How it shines... I mean, how it works."

Harry nodded again for good measure, then stood and began to walk out the door. Mr. Steel interrupted as Harry was about to leave.

"Harry, my son. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Harry paused and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He left, silent.

* * *

Harry walked through the woods to his clearing. The circle was beginning to grow over in grass and weeds, flowers sprouting up here and there. Within a few weeks one would never know what was there, what took place there. Harry was stricken by the urge to mark it somehow, but had no way to do so. Rocks? Flowers?

He snorted at that last thought, picturing himself planting pretty flowers in a circle. Plus, how would one mow the center? He laughed aloud. Logistics always seemed to ruin great ideas!

Finally, he sat down at the edge of the clearing in a bit of thick grass. It was a warm day in May, and Harry was itching to try out his runes. He closed his eyes and looked over his magic. The light flowed forth from his heart as usual, spreading through his body to pool in the areas over his runes and tattoo. He let his wings come forth, watching the light uncoil from his core in fascination. The wings started as light, growing bigger and bigger, sprouting from his back and then turning into physical flesh and bone and steel. He smiled, feeling like an artist who had just finished painting the perfect masterpiece. It was perfect.

He turned his attention to the first rune, _Ankh_. It rested above his heart peacefully. All light seemed to pass through it and return, and endless circle. The resurrection of magic, a return to life to what has left it. At least this rune turned out exactly as intended!

_Mem _was next. Centered on his forehead, light spread from it and seemed to set his mind alight. He focused on it, flowing into its light. It was like being a boat on the ocean, at once calm and tranquil, then dark and violent, crash upon crash upon crash. He came to himself with a gasp, heart beating fast. _Woah!_ He shook out his suddenly numb hands, and was amazed to see it was already late morning. How long had he been sitting there, lost in thought? With a force of will he sat still again, once more looking inwards. He inspected _Heth_ next. Time for a fun rune! He looked its light over, a strong star... He extended a tendril more of magic to it, seeing how the magic circled through Ankh and connected itself to _Heth_, making the rune glow brighter. Stronger too, he imagined. That would be an exercise for another time, slowly building up the power in his runes. Couldn't ever hurt to have too much!

He stood up with a smile, stretching his left palm face out. He made his eyes see the magic, observing how it worked.

"_Heth!"_

The light expanded instantly, a bubble of light that made his eyes sting. He squinted, concentrating on making it dimmer, and watched how a small amount of light was brought back into the rune. Not into the body, he observed, but the rune. He focused on making it brighter and brighter, until no light was left in the rune at all. _Amazing._

Finally, his eyes beginning to water, he drew the magic back with a quick mental snap. The light was now back into the rune, pooling pleasantly, a glowing rune of magic. He didn't feel the least bit tired. Technically, he supposed, the magic to sustain the rune was already present, so the only effort expended was the concentration to keep the shield in place. He wondered if it could be broken, and if so, whether the magic would return or be lost, to have to be replaced at a later time. He would need to practice making the shield weaker and stronger, bigger and smaller. A challenge, he thought with a mental grin, which would be fun to play around with.

He sat down again, searching out the brother runes, _Ayin._ They rested on either side of his temples, tiny circles barely half an inch in diameter. With his hair messy they were practically invisible, but to his magical sight they glowed brightly. He observed them closely, seeing how the active runes connected to his eyes in overlapping concentric circles. He reopened his eyes, stomach growling. He shook his head, standing again and walking into the center of the circle. Then, he turned and looked back to where he had been. He saw a rock near the tree line, covered in moss. He concentrated on it, narrowing his eyes, and was rewarded as things began to get a little clearer, a little closer. Almost as if he was moving there to look right at it up close. He saw the tiny sprigs of the moss, the textures of green and overlapping fuzz, and the tiny speck of a beetle climbing the mountain of rock.

"Harry?"

He turned to look, and almost fell over backwards as he saw deep caverns and hair and... he closed his eyes, frantically trying to make them normal. When he reopened them, Mike was looking at him quizzically.

"It's time for lunch, scatterbrain."

Harry nodded, gulping. for a second he had thought some huge hairy monster was about to eat him. He made a mental note to never look too close at another person ever again!

* * *

By the time Harry finished his chores and got back outside it was midafternoon. He sat down again and took a deep breath. This time he turned his eyes on the sixth rune, _Samekh_. It had, by far, been the most traumatic experience, even worse than _Mem_. His own magic, turned into a rabid animal to tear him apart... not a thing he wanted to remember. He made himself make sure the light filled it, saw with interest a small connection between it and _Mem._ He had no idea what that might mean. His mind had not been terribly clear that night, and he had been afraid some unintended consequences would result. He looked closer, and saw that tiny almost infinitesimal strands of light spread forth from the rune, almost like a spider web, nearly invisible, to cover his entire body. He could only assume that that was the healing aspect. He had planned the rune to be a support, giving more endurance and health, but there was not a true way to test it. Time would tell whether he got sick again, and whether he would heal as fast.

The last rune, _Zayin,_ was almost the brightest, second only to _Ankh_ and _Heth._ Its pool of light seemed to be in motion, but Harry was interested to see that very little light actually connected the rune to _Ankh._ He pulled another strand out, attached it to the rune... and the light seeped right back, not holding true like _Heth _did. He frowned, tried again. Same result. He opened his eyes and stood, this time pointing his right palm outwards.

"_Zayin!"_

Nothing happened. Harry felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dropped over his head. What on earth?

"_Zayin! __**Zayin**__!"_

He looked into his magic, and the light coiled there, same as before.

"_**Zayin!"**_

Nothing. He grit his teeth, confused. Why would the rune not respond? He tried to think over that night, what had he focused on? A weapon, right? And a weapon, it would, well... shoot people? He tried to think back. Had he said shoot? He had said attack at least, right? Oh, man. What use was a weapon if it couldn't do anything? He grumbled to himself, before giving up on it. He would need to look over his books again, perhaps ask Mr. Steel. He knew the rune was active, knew there was magic set aside. He would just have to figure out how to use trigger the thing.

* * *

"...and it won't work! I'm tried multiple times, wracked my brain, and I_ cannot figure it out_!"

Harry huffed, his shoulders shaking in frustration. Mr. Steel observed him a second, before dropping his eyes to Harry's notes and the book of cuneiform.

"You said you knew the root was rest, correct?"

He waited for a nod before continuing.

"Well, perhaps it only works in self-defense. Or, perhaps, it only will work as a boost in correlation with another weapon. Maybe it only makes people sleep? Who knows, when it comes to magic? I do not know what to tell you, Harry. All you can do is keep testing it. Perhaps one of the boys would agree to be a dummy? No?"

Harry shook his head glumly, though a bit of a smile tugged at his mouth. The boys reactions to that particular question had been hilarious. _"Hell, No." "What? NO!"_ Only Kerr had considered, before smiling and shaking his head. _"Is it worth the risk of harming us, Harry?"_ He had had no answer to that, and had given up on it.

"Well, then, I cannot say. Time will tell. Do not give up!"

Harry nodded and left the room with a sigh. That could have gone better, he supposed. He had been hoping Mr. Steel would have a magically awesome idea that would make everything work again, but no such luck. Well, at least_ Heth _was fun to play around with!

* * *

Harry smiled, expanding and retracting _Heth_. He could make it as wide as five feet diameter, and as small as to cover only the space above his skin. Smaller than two feet and it tended to warp, contouring to the outside of his skin. He could not partially fuel the shield; it was an all or nothing type of rune. He figured with some work and effort he could strengthen the shield so it would cover a wider area, so that he could protect others beside him. Well, that was something at least. As it was now, it would not cover his wings completely. He was not positive if the things were magic-resistant, but he did not want to leave himself open to attack like that. He figured he would need at least twenty feet diameter to protect them in the air, though he could get away with ten on the ground with wings furled.

He considered his magic. He could probably spread a little each day to _Heth, _without feeling too tired. His magic was mostly recovered already, and was much brighter than before. Like a muscle, it was getting stronger every day he practiced magic, and his runes had made it grow by leaps and bounds. He tried to make himself feel better about _Zayin's_ failure with the thought of how great _Heth_ had turned out.

* * *

Harry looked up as Mike appeared in the doorway.

"Mr. Steel says come down. It's time to go over plans together."

Plans. _Of course_. It was now early June, and they had two months before Harry's birthday at the end of July. All the others were already seated around the dining room table. Mike and Harry joined them. Mr. Steel began.

"I have already talked some to most of you, but now is the time to get down some concrete plans and begin to brainstorm. First, the wizards will most likely not be hostile. Instead, they will send a letter or perhaps a teacher and a letter. At most, I doubt we will have more than two teachers show up. They will want to talk to Harry, probably explain the existence of the wizarding world, perhaps even a magic trick or two. Then, Harry will be given further instruction. This is the most likely scenario, and also the most harmless. However, I believe in being prepared. There is a chance that these people will instead attempt to take Harry forcefully because he is being raised by Muggles. I have not been able to find concrete proof that all wizarding children are allowed to remain with Muggle families. In this scenario, the wizards are hostile, and may come in larger groups. I want to stress something here."

Mr. Steel stared at each of the boys in turn.

"We will not attack them, unless under attack first. Our goal is not to hide Harry from the wizarding world. Instead, Harry and I will go over contact options for him getting up with us at a later time. Our goal is to protect ourselves. We have no way to hide our own minds. If the wizards capture Harry, they will not want us to remember that fact. We must, instead, immediately flee."

He was interrupted by outraged noises from Mike and Tiny. Kerr simply leaned back, expecting.

"Yes, flee. We are no match for a wizard, even with those toys I know you are all practicing with. We can only hope to surprise them long enough to make our own escape. The minute Harry is taken, we will leave. I want us to be ready for this, even if this is only an off chance. It is not worth the risk. And remember, if any of us have our own minds read, then the game is up. Harry will be under suspicion. Keep this in mind. If the wizards come forcefully, we defend only, and leave. The location we are going to will only be known by myself and Harry, whose mind is protected. Make no eye contact, I cannot stress this fact enough. That is the window to your mind, for the average wizard. I doubt extreme talent will be wasted on us. Most likely, we will get bored wizards just doing their job, and they will not be expecting resistance."

The boys seemed speechless, in turns angry and defiant, and then resigned. They knew what Mr. Steel spoke was reasonable.

* * *

Mr. Steel and Harry sat in his room, both staring the other down. Mr. Steel spoke first.

"My mind is perhaps the most vulnerable. I know too much, about you, and about this project of ours. I could be your worst enemy, if the wizards were to read me. I do not want it to seem like we are just abandoning you to them. We are, in our own way, protecting you."

Harry nodded.

"We will flee to London, first. If we are not there, I want you to memorize these two addresses. They are ones we can also be reached at. I do not know the exact means of wizarding mail. Whether it is a spell to mimic owls, actually owls, whatever. Do not send unless certain it cannot be traced. If we are at one of the places, I want you to put in an ad in the_ London Evening Standard_. Word it exactly like this, short and sweet."

He passed Harry a piece of paper with a short phrase.

"Enter in a meeting place at a local restaurant of your choice. One of us will meet you there."

Harry felt a little overwhelmed.

"Sir, how likely is this to happen? I mean, you said earlier that you thought the wizards will simply be teachers, coming to recruit me for their school."

"I said, most likely they would be. Look, I have more books that I do not keep in the main room, you know, I've shown them to you. Here is one."

He passed over a book to Harry. _The_ _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts._

"Even as early as a decade ago the wizarding world was put through a civil war of sorts. A dark wizard set himself up as lord of the others and tried to make slaves of all Muggleborn children. He was a pureblood supremacist. Liken it to Hitler, if you would. He only got defeated by a miracle of magic of sorts, a small child who was in the wrong place at the right time. His followers were never eradicated, and many seem to be in political power. Old wealth and such. We do not know if the situation could have changed again in the wizarding world. I just want you to be prepared, Harry."

He nodded, glancing the book over.

"Can I keep this, sir? I want to read up on what happened myself. I have been mostly reading books on spells and such, not history."

"Of course, my son. Take this one, as well."

He passed Harry another book, not as thick as the first. _Modern Magical History_. Harry nodded, and stood resolutely.

"Thank you, sir."

Mr. Steel nodded, before waving him from the room. Harry resolved to up his studies. The others were taking too great of a risk for him to slacken off at this point. It was time to focus.

* * *

The coincidence was too great. Harry leaned back with start, his mind flying through the options. It did not make sense, but it _did_. So many things he had never considered, never put together. He did not for a minute think Mr. Steel knew. The man had never known his surname.

The Dark Lord Voldemort, _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._ Defeated nine years ago, on All Hallows Eve. If it was truly defeat. The green light Harry remembered, the details of Voldemort's favorite curse, _Avada Kedavra_. The Killing Curse, an Unforgivable. A curse to separate souls from their bodies, to kill quickly with no marks. Never known to have been blocked before. _Before._

The red-eyed man in his dream, the darkness in his mind. Behind the scar, a scar given from a car crash that killed his parents nine years ago, on Halloween. Lily, Petunias hated sister,_ Lily Potter_, Harry Potter, Harry_ James_ Potter, son of _James Potter_. It all made too much sense. How many Lily and James Potter's could there be, who had a son named Harry, who died on Halloween, who was given a lightning bolt shaped scar? _How many?_

This changed everything. _Everything. _ The wizards would not have left him with Muggles if it were not for a good reason. And they would not of willing let him go, either. Did they seek to keep him ignorant? Was he in danger from dark wizards, hoping to finish what their master started? The possibilities opened wide, and Harry found himself on the border of hyperventilating. What now? Did he tell them? What did he do?

_The-Boy-Who-Lived_. Harry James Potter.

He walked as if in a daze, down the stairs, into the office. _Empty_. He exited, passing through the kitchen. Mr. Steel sat there, tea to one side and a newspaper on the other. He looked up smiling, only for it to fade at Harry's pale face. Harry slammed the book down, pointing wordlessly to the picture of a smiling baby boy, grinning toothless up at the camera.

_Harry James Potter._

He tried to speak, couldn't. He sat with a thump, just pointing at the picture, the name. Hero. _A bloody hero_. Mr. Steel looked, uncomprehending. Then the man's mind clicked. It was almost audible, when the light bulb went off, an_ Ah-HA!_ moment._ Eureka! _The boy is a celebrity. _What!?_

"My name. Harry James Potter. My parents, Lily and James. They died nine years ago; my Aunt always said it was a car crash. That I got that scar in a car crash. Sir. _Sir!_"

His breath came fast again, and Mr. Steel abruptly stood and gathered him into his arms. He made soothing noises, and for the first time in years Harry allowed the tears to fall. He did not even know that he still cared. He had always been told his parents were the good for nothing sort, marrying early, having a baby, drunks the both of them. Worthless, jobless, freaks. _Freaks_, _oh,_ how could he not have _realized_?

"What's wrong? _Harry?"_

The voice came from the doorway.

"Nothing, leave."

Mr. Steel commanded in a stern voice. Tiny obeyed immediately. Harry made himself step back, let himself be led into the office, the door shutting behind him. Mr. Steel gently pressed him into a chair, before pulling his own to sit across from him. He rested his hands on Harry's shoulder.

"Tell me. Whatever led you to this."

"My name. I've always known it, had to know it, for school. My parents' names too. A asked my aunt, she hated her sister, resented her. All I was ever told was negative. I was a freak, a worthless drain on their finances, a legal hassle and risk. They must have known, sir. Always no funny business, never questioning the odd things, only getting angry. They must have been forced to take me in. Why, I do not know. Oh, sir. What does this mean? If its' true, and it's got to be, the coincidences, it's too great. The same name? parents names? Scar? _Age?_"

"Oh Harry. I knew of this, this person. Of you. I never would've put that together. This changes... so much. So much I cannot even comprehend it. You are not the average wizard. You are not even Muggleborn! You are a half-blood, I guess. A step up, in some eyes. You will definitely be noticed, everywhere you go, and everything you do. And... These wizards. If they put you there on purpose... if they do not know you are missing by now, they will when it's time for your letter to go out, for you to go to school. And I highly doubt they will be happy with you being here, nor the state you are in."

Harry shook his head, wordless. It was all too much to handle.

"Oh, Harry."

"My parents died for me, sir. It says it, right there. My mother and father both, died fighting against this dark wizard. All my life, I thought they did not care, that they were worthless. They were heroes! My dad, he was their version of a policeman, an Auror, my mother was already a renowned Charms Mistress! I had a family, that loved me, and it was taken from me."

He shook his head.

"And now, I can't help but think, what about that thing, in my head? Was that something of this Dark Lord's? Will I ever know? And look here!"

He pointed to the page before, a showcase on the terror of the wizarding world.

"This guy_ spoke to snakes! _ It reads: _' one of the dark talents, to speak to the cold-blooded denizens of the earth, a most evil-sounding trait; Parseltongue._' And_ I speak to snakes too_."

Mr. Steel reached out again, pulling Harry into a hug. He sat stiff for a moment, before collapsing in the man's arms. _Is this what it feels like to have a father?_ He closed his eyes and for a second let someone else consider his problems, make decisions. Mr. Steel gently pulled Harry back, tipping his head up to meet his eyes.

"It's going to be okay, Harry. Do not worry about that. I need to get into contact with some other people. This is bigger than I ever thought. To have you, right here under our noses... well. To the wizarding world, you are a hero. They have books about you, many obviously false, but they will have expectations. I shudder to think what would have happened if you had had no knowledge of this when you entered their world. I will try and get ahold of some book son wizarding families. Your father was a pureblood, and with that came political responsibilities as well. I imagine you even have money, laid up for you somewhere. Yes. Let me think on this. We will make more plans later. Will you be okay?"

"Yes. Yes, I'll be fine. I just... don't tell the others. Not yet. I'll tell them, if... when I need to."

"Alright. Try to relax. Everything is going to be fine."

* * *

Harry tried to keep that in mind as he attempted to finish his day. As soon as the others went to their rooms, he escaped out the door and into the night sky. He flew fast and far, not caring which direction.

He soared over farms and houses, over Cheddar itself, a blaze of softly glowing lights and dark streets. He sharpened his eyes downward, watching dogs and cats and the occasional person walking about. His eyes could see so clearly, another side effect of_ Ayin_ now discovered. Better night vision. He watched a car drive down a quiet street, and it was then he saw it happen.

A woman, walking from her car late at night, busy fussing with a purse, grabbed and cornered by two men. It did not take imagination to know what they wanted. Harry dived between one heartbeat and the next, the rushing air spinning past his face. He landed feet first into the side of the taller man, knocking him back and off the woman. The other man cursed, spinning, holding her ripped shirt in his hands, and paused, shocked. Harry could see the picture he made reflected in the man's eyes. A boy, winged in glinting silver and black steel. The other man jumped up, swinging his fist, and Harry's wing swept back, shearing it at the wrist. The man howled in pain and shock, collapsing. The woman cried, sobbing, clutching her torn clothes to cover herself. The second man cursed again, backing off, fumbling in his jacket.

He pulled forth a shaking gun, pointing it in his direction. Before the shot fired Harry cried out.

"Heth!"

The bullet went wild, not even hitting his shield. Harry did not waste time.

"Zayin!"

Both palms held out, his desire clear in his mind. Protect the woman, _protect protect protect_. The magic poured from his right palm, the rune glowing, the magic arching in its z shaped pattern, an arch that ended when it hit the gun, blowing it from the man's hand. His arm was next, an explosion of gore and blood, ending when it exited his shoulder. He panted hard, heart racing. Both men were on the ground now, one unconscious, the first attempting to crawl away cradling his injured wrist.

Harry glanced at the woman, sick to his stomach. She huddled, crying, refusing to look up. He quickly stepped towards her, but she backed up, shaking and afraid. He heard shouting and the sounds of sirens. With a last glance at the men, he jumped up with a leap, letting the magic help lift him up and into the air. He landed on the building above, and quickly emptied his stomach. He had never seen... _never imagined_. The thought of what that spell could have done to someone... it was so far beyond what he had wanted, when he had thought of a spell to protect oneself. It had _exploded_. And his wings... he could feel the man's blood dripping off his left wing, and that sent him dry heaving again in a corner.

When he wiped his mouth and shakily peered over the edge of the roof and down into the street, the police had arrived. The woman was being wrapped in a blanket by a female officer, talking rapidly. Medics were attempting to help the two men. They were all obviously confused. Harry wished he could sharpen his ears as well as his eyes and know what they were saying. One was rambling in his radio, making violent hand gestures. Harry spent another minute observing the scene before he noticed that the sky was beginning to lighten. If he did not head home now, he would risk being seen in the sky.

He quickly stood, backing away and to the other edge, leaping off and up and heading back home. His mind was a rash of confusion. Close to home he stopped, finding a pond. He looked himself over. His left wing was splattered with blood, as well as his coat and shoes. He shed them and his coat, wading into the pons a little ways, enough to dip his wings under and rinse them quickly. He wanted no part of that man within himself. He then did the best he could with his coat and shoes, a quick rinse. He glanced at the sky and sighed. He would need to walk the rest of the way, couldn't risk flying. It would take at least an hour. If the others noticed him missing, he would be in deep trouble.

Things felt almost normal now, as if he did not just cut off a man's hand and shredded another's entire arm. _He had not meant to! _ He just wanted to help the woman, maybe scare them away, but then that one had hit his wing, and the other had pulled out a gun, of all things. And _Zayin_. He glanced within himself; saw the rune glowing as deep as usual. Such destructive force! What was the secret to it? Desire? He had in no way_ intended _that result that was for sure_. _What was that saying?

_The road to Hell is paved with good intentions._

What was he going to say? Should he tell the truth? Would they find out anyway? Harry resigned himself to walking back, setting a fast jog. He had a while to think about it.

* * *

The Auror on duty was thinking it was just another night. The Muggle Liaison Office was never really busy, hadn't been since the end of the war and its aftermath. The occasional item or scared Muggle was usually handled by the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office and their team of Obliviators.

So it was with surprise that he registered a call coming through on that odd Muggle device, the tell-o-phone. He picked it up hesitantly, this being only the third time he had had to do so.

"Hello?"

"Yes, is this the... MLO?"

"That is correct."

"I need to register... suspicious... activity."

"Go ahead."

The man described an odd incident, of a woman attacked and her would-be rapist being attacked in turn by an odd winged human, who shot a spell and decapitated a mans arm and another's wrist. It definitely wreaked of dark magic. The Auror got names and coordinates, then began to summon the correct people. A team of three, two Aurors and one specialist in obliviation and legilimency arrived two hours later at the small Muggle police office. They entered the through the back, and were led to a back room, where a woman held a tissue to her face. The woman looked up, confused by their presence and clothes. The third man was inside her mind the minute she made eye contact, skimming her surface thoughts. The woman did not remember much, only getting a glimpse of wing-like appendages and a flickering light. She did not remember much. The man withdrew from her mind.

"_Obliviate!"_

He only left a vague memory of being attacked before the men ran away, scared by approaching police cars.

"We will need to see these other two men."

They nodded, and were told that the men were currently under guard at the nearby hospital. They apparated there immediately, traveling under notice-me-not-charms up to the the rooms the men were recovering in. The guards were expecting them, and only stared at their strange attire before letting them through. Both men rested in beds, one asleep and the other trying to eat off a tray with one hand. The man glanced up, opened his mouth to question, and the man once more slipped into his mind. He was good at his job.

This man, Frank, had seen the woman first. He offered to hold her while the other man, Donnie, took his turn first. He had been in the process when he had been knocked off his feet by a strong kick in the side. He had gotten up and saw a small man or perhaps boy, his features unclear in the low light, with huge wings spread out from his back. He had tried to strike them and had barely registered the pain before he realized that his hand was missing. It had sheared off easily and cleanly, as if sliced with a sharp blade, an easy wound for the medics to stitch up. His hand had not been able to be reattached. The man had tried to flee, heard gunshots and turned back in time to see the small man shoot off a bolt of colored light that had exploded Donnie's gun, hand, and arm all the way up to the shoulder. The police had caught him before he could crawl much farther, the winged human disappearing as suddenly as he had appeared.

The man pulled out, frowning.

"Obliviate!"

He turned to the others, seeing the other man was unconscious still.

"It's not a harpy or veela. It seems the wings themselves cut off the wrist, perhaps some sort of armored plate? Regardless, very dangerous. Not a spell I have heard of before, either way. There are some that perhaps could copy the effects, with some creativity. Either way, not sure what we are dealing with here."

"_Enervate."_

The man, Donnie, came awake with a pain filled groan. The man was in his mind, as soon as he cracked an eyelid, watching the event from his perspective. He too had not gotten a clear look, but had attempted to shoot in defensive after seeing the man somehow cut off the hand of his companion. The bullet had went wild, and the resulting attack spell had knocked him unconscious just after getting a glimpse of his arms ripping and twisting into a million bloody pieces. The man had not heard the spells clearly, though he could confirm that the attacker did not seem to have a wand. Wandless ability was rare, and usually limited to certain spells. A favorite of the attackers, perhaps? One of their own creation? He pulled out of the man's mind.

"_Obliviate. Stupefy."_

The team left after visiting each of the other officers on duty in turn, obliviating where necessary, and filing a preliminary report with the Muggles. When they reentered the Ministry they went directly to meet with their superior, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Justus Pilliwickle raised his head as they took seats, pushing his mountain of paperwork aside temporarily.

"Well?"

"I'm not sure, sir. At first it sounded like Rosier, just his style with the expulsion curse, but after looking into the memories this does not seem to be the case. That, and Rosier would never act in defense of a Muggle. "

"Ideas?"

"Dark Wizard, definitely. Unknown curse, though it could be a personal hybrid created by the caster. Known to happen, with these dark types. Does not fit any open cases at present."

"Motive?"

"...Not sure sir. It would appear it was defense of the Muggle woman, but that does not mesh with dark magic. Also, the extreme use of force, it seemed excessive. Perhaps a personal vendetta? It is unclear."

"I assume all cleanup has been handled."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Keep a file on it, names, dates. We will be on the lookout."

"Should I assign a patrol, sir?"

"I do not see why. We are short enough as it is, to send a team for one small incident that did not even result in death. Let the Muggles handle it for now."

"Of course, sir."

"Dismissed."

"Yes, sir."

Once the men left, Pilliwickle tapped his paperwork with one long finger. There were still a few death eaters that had never been brought to judgment. Some, for lack of proof. Others, an expenditure of wealth. And the last, those that were simply too good at hiding. Rosier was perhaps the most sought. The general public liked to think they were safe, but that was simply not the case. The DMLE force was too strung out, and too poorly funded, to adequately put on the kind of search needed to find the missing death eaters. And after the war, the people were simply tired of being afraid, and tired of spending money and effort in fighting. They wanted to lay down their fighting wands and live peaceably.

He wished he could let them.

* * *

_To Be Continued: Harry's tenth birthday, and the second runic set_


	12. If Only

_**Authors Note: You may singularly thank fan(guest), an anonymous reviewer, for me posting this chapter. I was determined not to until it was beta'd, but alas, I was scaring yall with my inactivity! (devious chuckles). Thank you to my beta, **__**A Mistake, **__**for the wonderful work being done beta'ing this story one chapter at a time! Yes, I am still writing, I just want the chapters to be in the best form they can be in if possible. So, give me time to get them edited. A shout-out to kildar2010 as well for helping me with rune ideas, and the concept of the notice-me-not rune! For the sake of my story, I am going to pretend that the full moon during the winter solstice fell earlier than it really did, which was in 1999. It is very rare, only occurring perhaps once every 20 years. Also, the second runic set is in Greek, so though Harry speaks its Greek words in English, it is written with Greek letters. Google if you need to visualize. Enjoy the chapter, and please leave a review telling me what you think! **_

* * *

"_If only, if only," the woodpecker sighs,_

_"The bark on the tree was as soft as the skies."_

_While the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely,_

_Crying to the moo-oo-oon,_

_"If only, If only."_

_- Louis Sachar_

* * *

"...and that's how it happened, sir."

Mr. Steel simply watched him. His silence was like a judgment fallen on repentant shoulders.

"Harry, I'm not even going to go into why you were flying over there. I do not think I need to stress the fact that you need to stay hidden. I've known you have been going flying late at night, and I figured you were responsible enough to take care of yourself. I understand that you saw a woman being attacked, and your first response was to defend her. But there are other ways you could have acted. You could have broken a window, made a loud noise, scared the criminals off thinking they were about to be discovered. In acting directly, you put yourself and all of us at risk. We will not know for a few days at least if the men were able to recognize you."

It was like a slap, to hear so casually how much he had messed up.

"Harry, relax. You said it was dark, and I doubt these men would believe the sight that greeted their eyes. The police will probably call them crazy. Perhaps nothing will come of it. From now on, though, you must be more careful. I will not forbid you to fly, I doubt that is even possible. But you must be more careful. You have a great gift, you can protect people, I wouldn't expect you to not try. Just think more carefully next time."

"And who will protect them from me?"

The question slipped out before he could bite it back. Mr. Steel looked nonplussed.

"I mean, it... It was just my wing, there. I knew they were sharp, I knew it, but when that man's fist touched it, and I moved them back... it just slid clean off, like, like a laser had cut it! I did not even try. And Zayin, it was supposed to just be a rune to, I don't even know, I'm in over my head here sir, I do not know what to think..."

"I understand. I doubt it was a pretty sight to see."

Harry turned green just thinking about it.

"Harry, the fact that you even care about the so called bad guys in this situation puts any fears I have to rest. You are not a bad person, you simply have power you are neither prepared to wield, or old enough to consider the repercussions of it. This will come in time. For now, you need to practice control. Of your emotions, your magic, and most of all those runes. _This can not happen again."_

Harry hung his head, nodding.

"Now go and get your breakfast, I fathom you are starved."

He nodded again, reluctantly walking from the room. He did not feel like eating, but the smell of food quickly changed his mind. He tried to put the incident from his mind, but it refused to disperse. When he finally dragged himself away from the house, he walked farther than his usual clearing, coming to a small stream a ways into the woods. He didn t want an audience.

"Zayin!"

Nothing. The rock he had pointed at did not even show a crack.

"Zayin! Zayin!"

He sat with a sigh, observing his magic. It still sat there, calm as could be, trapped in his palm. He tried to think back to the trigger. He had been angry. Well, angry at those men for what they had been trying to do. Had already done. Was anger the key? Or anger on the behalf of others?

"Zayin!"

This time a small bolt escaped, and the rock spread with feathery cracks. It was nothing like what had happened before, but he imagined it had something to do with the strength of the emotion. Or perhaps it was simply the fact that the rock was not hurting anybody. He sighed again. It was most definitely a weapon, alright, but it was one he would be reluctant to use except in the worst of circumstances. He could have killed that man, might of anyway! The spell had exploded on contact, and traveled like lightning up the mans arms. Knowing now what the rune did, he would definitely think twice about using it again. but didn't that make it useless?

Perhaps. He would learn from this mistake, be more specific next time. And he would learn to control this rune, learn to control its strength, before he killed someone.

* * *

Harry entered the office, sitting at in his usual chair. Mr. Steel handed him a paper silently.

"_Boy-Who-Lived defeats He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"_

"Apparently it was a very popular edition."

Mr. Steel gave a sarcastic smile, before shaking his head.

"The disturbance caused ten years ago was noticeable to everyone. They blamed it on owls changed migratory patterns, on drunken celebrations, a plethora of cheaply manufactured fireworks... still. It was even in the news! And so few suspected it was anything out of the ordinary. But those of us who did, we listened. You, Harry, are extraordinary even by wizarding terms. You defied the laws of magic, once. Whether it was your own doing or a spell cast by your parents I doubt I will ever know. You may find out however, when you enter their world."

"What did... they... say? About me, this?"

"It changes things, truly. You will need to be more careful. And this ups the chances that you will be taken from us by an exponential amount. I very much doubt they will allow a celebrity to remain with unknown individuals, despite what you say. This is something we need to talk about."

"Are you saying I should just... go with them? What about the others..."

"Harry, you must not worry about us. It is important for you to enter the wizarding world, and if that means living with a wizarding family, all the better. We have already came up with ways to stay in contact. It will be alright, I promise."

Harry shook his head, before shrugging.

"Think about it, sleep on it. However, the others will take it better coming from you."

"I know. I'm going to tell them, okay? On my own time."

"Very well."

* * *

"Hi."

Kerr looked up, smiled.

"Hi, Harry. You need something?"

"I just... wanted to talk to you. And Mike, and Tiny too."

"You want me to get them?"

"They are on their way here."

As if summoned, the two appeared and entered the room, looking curious.

"What's wrong, Harry?"

"I, that is, Mr. Steel and I, have found out some new information. There is a great chance I will be leaving on my birthday. We no longer think it is a possibility for me to stay with you."

"What!"

"Harry, what do you mean?"

Harry held up a hand, holding off the words.

"Let me explain, okay?"

Mike folded his arms, looking stubborn, while Tiny frowned.

"My name, its Potter. Harry Potter. And, apparently, the Potters were very, um, famous in the wizarding world. And I am, too. I was left with my normal aunt and uncle when they died, and did not know any of this. I am not a Muggleborn at all, but a wizard-born. We, well, we do not think that the wizards will be happy with where I am, that there are reasons I was put where I was. We think they will take me back, put me with other wizards."

The boys were speechless. Kerr spoke first.

"I guess I understand. Is this going to be goodbye then?"

"No! That's not fair."

Tiny whined. Harry's shoulders slumped.

"After my birthday, yeah, I guess it is. We have come up with ways to stay in touch, for me to get in contact. But it could be a year or more before I am able to get word out. Especially if they forbid me talking to you, or even worse blame you for kidnapping me or some such. They will not be able to take the truth from my mind, so I doubt they will look kindly on you all. I just, I wanted to tell you so that you would understand."

"It's alright, Harry."

Kerr scooped him up into a hug.

"We knew either way it went it could go bad. This school alone would take you nine months out of the year. We will not forget you, though. You will always be our brother."

Harry felt tears prick at his eyes, and forced them back. He wouldn't be caught crying in front of them.

When they finally left to eat, Harry felt much better. The boys did not like him having to go, but they would not blame him. And they had promised, he would always be one of them. No matter where he went.

* * *

They all sat around the table, quiet. They had one week before his tenth birthday. Plans were scratched out on paper, stations established, emergency bags packed. It was a waiting game from here. They were all nervous, but accepting.

It was time.

* * *

Harry watched the clock tick. He had a hood pulled up over his head, gloves on his hands. He did not want to give away his runic status if he could help it. Mr. Steel had heavily insisted on hiding it, to keep it as a secret advantage. Harry did not much fancy wearing gloves the rest of his school years, but figured he could get over it.

_11:45 p.m._

There was a rustle upstairs, the boys nervous. Harry tried to keep his eyes outside, being the only one who could see magic. If they came cloaked, he would be ready.

_11:50 p.m._

Could time slow down? Sure did seem like it was. He unconsciously clenched Dread, hidden inside his cloak. The dagger had to stay with him if he had to leave immediately.

_11:55 p.m._

This was killing him. Mr. Steel coughed, and he about jumped out of his skin. the clock suddenly chimed, and Harry's eyes flickered back and forth, trying to catch any movement.

_12:00 p.m._

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing

_12:05 p.m._

He darted his eyes to the clock, then back to the yard. His shoulders began to relax.

_12:10 p.m._

For another hour they waited. Then Mr. Steel called most of them to bed, setting up shifts to watch till dawn. As if any of them could sleep!

Harry tossed and turned, before finally just walking downstairs and standing next to Kerr.

"Seems we got you for another year, Harry."

As he watched the dawn light the sky in beautiful colors, Harry let himself begin think it was true.

* * *

It took a good week for everyone to finally calm down. Once it did, they celebrated with a big birthday dinner.

"Can't lose Skinny yet!"

Mike crowed, grabbing Harry around the neck and fluffing his hair.

"Get off!"

Harry shoved him back playfully, before letting out a hoot and taking off, chased around the table.

"Tag!"

Tiny jumped into the game, tripping Harry up only to be tagged in turn.

When they finally collapsed on the living room floor, panting, Tiny spoke up.

"I'm glad you are here for another year, Harry. I don't want to be the youngest again."

The boys smiled laughingly. Harry laughed, shaking his head.

"Whatever you say."

It was a perfect day.

* * *

Harry flew over Cheddar again. He made himself look, watching the streets. His night vision was extraordinary now with practice, picking up detail he would not of thought possible. When he saw the man, he let the wind bring him to a hover over the spot.

The man walked alone down the street, head down and shoulders together. He paused beside a car, looking both ways, before pulling out a crowbar and breaking the windshield. He must of picked a car on purpose with no alarm systems. Harry dropped down, reaching into his pocket to pull out a bag he had packed for this purpose. He dropped a rock straight down by the man, where it landed with smack.

The man jumped, looking around frantically. He reached urgently inside the car again, and Harry threw another, this time hitting the man in the leg.

He landed on roof nearby, watching the man spin around again, eyes wide. He turned to the car one last time, and this time Harry's rock arched up and flicked the side of his face. the man cried out, jumping up and running off, looking around frantically. Harry followed him in the sky, until the man entered a rundown apartment building. Harry took notice of the address, then landed on another roof. He carefully wrote out a quick note, telling the scene of the crime, a description of the man, and the address he went into. He then carefully slid the mail into a secluded post box before taking to the skies.

He let himself begin to wing back home, grinning. He had proved to himself that there was a way to help without taking physical action himself. He wanted to make up for the damage he had done last time, the violence. This might have been just a petty thief, but everything counted in his eyes. criminals were criminals. He was going to keep doing this, keeping an eye out on the town, until he did not have to feel guilty anymore for what happened last time. Until he could feel confidence again in his magic and runes. He would make a difference, and once more set the scales of magic in balance.

He would not be evil.

* * *

When September rolled around, Harry began to seriously consider another runic set. As bad as the last one had been, Harry was beginning to see the advantages to another one. This time, however, he wanted the whole thing planned out ahead of time. No more guessing, no more chances. He wanted to be certain of each rune.

There would not be another weapon or defense spell. _Heth_ was more than enough, and Harry did not want another mistake like _Zayin _on his hand. One explosive lightning spell was more than enough. Instead, he wanted to improve something most wizards did not bother with: physical shape. He wanted to go longer, work harder, and start earlier than any other. He was going to be a lot more specific this time as well, though, than _Samekh_, because of one side effect he had not anticipated.

_Samekh_ had worked like a dream, healing any scratch faster than he could blink, making him slightly stronger and taking care of aching muscles and bruises. However, after about the third week of summer something else became apparent.

He was not getting a tan.

He spent hours outside, playing and working. He should at least of taken the edge off that horrible pale skin. But nothing.

"We are going to start calling you ghost, Skinny."

Mike had commented sarcastically, which had brought the problem even more to his attention. Finally, one day, he simply laid outside all afternoon in the bright sunlight. If he didn't get a sunburn, it would be a miracle.

Nothing. Not even a red spot.

Harry had checked over his rune, found it glowing steadily, its spider web of magic extended over his skin. Then it hit him. Healing. What was a tan, anyway? A burn! The skin was burnt by the sun, and slowly healed. _Samekh_ prevented that from happening. He groaned, smacking his head. The other boys just laughed when he explained, and a new nickname was born.

"After all, you aren't that skinny anymore, Ghost." Mike laughed, poking his belly. Harry frowned dramatically, before throwing his hands in the air.

* * *

Planning the next runic set took up most of his time. The other half was filled with school work provided by Mr. Steel. They were all on a different level. Kerr was done already, and had taken up a part time job in Cheddar, driving the truck to and fro. Mike was on his last year, and Tiny was three years ahead of Harry. Math came easily to Harry, as did English, probably thanks to his reading so much. History was boring except for some of the stories, and civics was a pure hassle. Harry had never been much interested in government, but he made himself study hard. He would need the comparison for Wizarding affairs.

Every once in a while he and the boys would resume their games outside, with Kerr purchasing golf balls to take the place of the wooden rings. The boys would toss them to each other, play keep-away, and one of their favorite of what they were now calling "war games" was try-to-hit-harry. Harry enjoyed this the most, being able to practice utilizing his magic and flying at the same time. The boys enjoyed keeping tally of who could get in the most hits, and how far back the gold ball would bounce if it hit his shield. A few weeks in, Harry had added another rule. He himself would get points detracted if he unintentionally shattered a ball with his wings. He wanted to learn to defend himself with the wings, but he also wanted to learn how to keep from causing more harm than intended. The reminder of the man's wrist was still fresh in his mind.

Harry grew stronger with each game, working muscles and reflexes. He went for a run every morning, trying to keep himself in shape for flying when it was not possible. He wanted to be able to fly farther and faster when he got the chance. His time to get to Cheddar was already almost half of what it had been, as he grew taller and got stronger.

At night, sitting at his desk, his new set came alive for him. Several times he woke Dread up to talk to the snake about his plans, but it was more for a sounding board than anything. Mr. Steel still refused to help him plan for his own reasons. This still filled Harry with anger, but he was getting better at controlling it. He knew, reasonably, that the man had a reason, and it was probably a good one. Harry just wished he would share his thoughts. It was not like Harry could tell anyone!

He would start the new set on the Winter Equinox, an event that was supposedly favorable for starting rituals. It fell on December 22nd, with would mean at two runes a month, he would be done around the end of march. this would give him more time to recover and get acclimated to the runes before his eleventh birthday. All the boys had felt an urgency to spend as much time together as possible, all of them having the feeling that this was it. The last year.

Harry focused on his new set, seven runes to focus on improving the body. He would inscribe a rune on his left side for tolerance to heat and his right side for cold. He did not want to die of hypothermia, or have sweat running down his forehead and into his eyes during a fight. Not to mention he could get rid of that pesky coat when flying. He would have three runes on the back of his skull, to improve his memory, his physical response time, and his mental response time. At first, he was just going to improve his physical reflexes, but when he thought about it, his mind had to be able to keep up with the speed or it was useless. Plus, thinking faster on his feet would come in handy. Memory was obvious. With the millions of wand spells, it would be key. Power was not everything; a smart wizard could run circles around you if you did not know enough counter curses and shields. The last two of the set he agonized over for a while, trying to decide on just two of the myriad of ideas he had. He wanted to improve his hearing, but that would take both of the two runes left. The same with speed, and strength. No, perhaps his most pressing concern was being seen, found out. Not just his runes, but his wings as well. And finding out he was a celebrity had only exaggerated that fact.

He needed to be able to go unnoticed.

As great as _Heth_ and _Zayin _were, they would be the trump cards in his retinue, the last ditch options, the secret weapons. He could not afford for others to find out about his runes, and heaven forbid come up with a way to block them. They needed to be hidden from at least the general populace's knowledge.

However, coming up with a way to hide the runes was hard. A rune to hide runes seemed counter-intuitive, and he couldn't help but think it would be flawed. The runes were not just a part of his skin, they were a part of his magic. Someone with magical sight might look close enough and see something was wrong there as well. How could magic cloak itself without just drawing attention to the problem? Gloves and clothing would work a long ways, as none of his runes were extremely obvious. Well, the lightning bolt on his forehead had had more significance than any that they had imagined. At least it still looked the same, and he was contemplating growing his hair longer to help cover the tail added on at the top, as well as the two _Ayin_ on his temples.

Harry leaned back with a sigh. Sometimes he just wished he could be a normal kid. No responsibilities, no worries. He then laughed at himself. What was the point in wishing for such things? They only happened in fairy tales.

* * *

Mr. Steel passed on several more interesting books, on the history of wizarding spells, as well as language use in relation to spells. Most spells are cast in Latin, for one because it was a root language common across several countries. Also, it stopped spells from being unintentionally cast during daily conversation. Structure, the books quoted many times. It provided a structure. Harry was leaning away from Phoenician for his next set, but he still had not decided on their exact form, and it was coming up on October now.

As he flew north towards Cheddar, Harry wracked his mind for the actual rune designs. He was leaning more and more towards making up his own for this set; he was leery of any more surprises. He wanted cut and dried, to the point, step by step magic. No funny business, to quote his Uncle. Harry saw the lights brightening, and coasted around the outskirts. Most times when Harry flew over the village there was nothing to see. Not since that first time had he seen any violent crime. He was beginning to consider flying back through the gorge, but he wanted to see something new. Now that he was faster in the air, he thought about doing some exploring of his own. There was no way he could fly as far as Bristol Channel but perhaps he could see the Cheddar Reservoir, or the big limestone quarry.

The countryside was so beautiful. During the day everything seemed so green and bright, and at night the soft glow of the moon and stars lit up the ground in tones of grey and silver and black. He allowed his flight to continue around the town, staying on the outskirts. He flew over the beginning of the gorge and the angled east, following the town up and around before heading north again. He was now over countryside, and if he remembered the map he had seen correctly, he was almost to the quarry. When he saw the huge swath cut out of the cliffside, he slowed down, allowing his momentum to carry him forward, angling the wind through his wings to bring him closer to the ground. He landed on the top of the cliff face, looking over the landscape, Cheddar glittering in the distance. He knew that this was nothing, this height nor that town, compared to the larger world. At this moment, however, it seemed he had the world in front of him.

He folded his wings and sat on the ground with a huff, his eyes taking in the sights. His mind began to wonder, considering his problem. His book had talked about the pros and cons of creating a symbol of your own. It was harder, required more planning, but could be tailored to a specific purpose, and was harder for an enemy to guess the meaning of. Harry rhythmically thumped the ground, humming a tune as he thought. He pulled his wings in to stop the breeze from pushing on his body as he thought. He could make the rune a symbol, like a snowflake for cold tolerance. At that thought, he laughed aloud, the image of him having a snowflake pattern on his thigh suddenly hilarious.

"What do we have here?"

A snide voice, followed by snickering. Harry jumped to his feet, spinning around. How had he not heard anybody approaching? And why on earth did he keep falling into these situations? Did he have some sort of big magical trouble magnet pasted to his backside?

It was a group of boys, kids really, about Tiny's age, perhaps a little older. Teenagers, he guessed. The one in the lead had spoken. They were dressed like typical kids sneaking out, dark clothes, sneakers, hoodies pulled up over their heads. Up to no good, he would imagine. Probably sneaking into the quarry for a little fun. Observing the looks cast his way, he couldn't help but think that he was about to be labeled the "fun."

"You going to talk, sneak?"

"Why am I the sneak if you guys snuck in here too?"

Harry shot back, eyes narrowed. There were five of them, one of him. Still, he couldn't help but feel that he had the advantage. Advantage he really did not want to use, on second thought. Seeing the boys tense up, he realized that taunting them was probably not the best response. He inched closer to the cliff face.

"'Cause we come here all the time, this place is ours."

Oh, lovely. Some sort of gang. Harry took a few steps back, and the boys responded by laughing and elbowing each other.

"You don't have anywhere to run to, little sneak. Afraid?"

Harry swallowed a retort, though it burned his pride. He tried to think of a non-conflictive response.

"Look, just leave me alone."

"Oooohh, leave him alone!"

That came from another gang member, who made a silly face in his direction. Harry was seriously annoyed. He was not some little stupid child! Who did these people think they were? Did they just, go around, bullying people? He decided that his life mission from now on was to stamp the bully out of bullies. Once he figured out how to do so without killing them, anyway.

He backed up a few more steps, until he was right on the edge. Worry began to shine in the eyes of the leader. Harry spoke up.

"Please, just leave me alone. I won't come back, I promise."

"Yeah, we will make sure of that!"

The other boy crowed and stepped forward, but the leader shook his head, pulling him back.

"It's not worth it. He just a little kid. He won't come back."

"Since when do you care, huh? He's in our way! You scared, now? Don't wanna hurt the_ itty bitty_ _boy_?"

The boy's voice grated on Harry's nerves. There must have been some sort of wacky dynamic in that group. Maybe it was some sort of power play. In any case the leader straightened, eyes narrowed, before facing Harry with a determined glint in his eyes. Apparently this guy had something to prove, now.

"Just come over here. We won't hurt you."

"Much."

This came from a third boy, grinning. Harry considered his options. _Run?_ They were in his way. _Fight?_ He would hurt them. _Get beat up?_ Not if he could help it. _How would he get home?_ At this thought, Harry glanced behind him. It was at least a good two hundred feet. That would be more than enough. He glanced back at the boys, who had stepped closer, grinning maliciously. The leader hung back, not wanting to participate, but doing nothing to stop the others. Harry met his eyes. _You are just as bad as them._ The boy's eyes widened, and Harry wondered if he had gotten the message. Then he fell back into open air.

Screams rang out behind him, but he concentrated on angling his body face down, feet straight up, then he pulled forth his wings, holding them out straight, allowing the wind to flip him around and stall his progress. He kept close to the cliff face, hearing voices with shock ringing out from above. He grasped ahold of the edges surface, clinging to the cliff now to keep the wind from blowing him outwards and into sight. The voices soon faded, heading in the opposite direction. Probably trying to get away from the scene of a suicide, most like. He waited until the voices were gone completely before shoving off with as much power as he could make, aimed to gain altitude as fast as possible. He couldn't risk being seen at this juncture.

Once up high in the air, hidden between the stars, he glanced over the ground below. His sharp eyes finally picked out the boys, at the bottom of the quarry now, looking around frantically. Perhaps he had judged them wrongly, then, and they actually thought to check up on him first. As if anyone could survive that kind of fall. He shook his head and aimed back home, cursing himself for being a fool ten times over. That could have went wrong in ways he couldn't even imagine. He had to be more careful. What on earth would the others say if they knew he had almost caused trouble, _again?!_

* * *

He had decided. He would make his own symbols for what he wanted, specifically, though he would rely on the word for that symbol being in Greek. He spent the month of November drawing out his runes painstakingly, and writing down exactly what he wished to accomplish. He went over the wording with Dread, and practiced taking control of the knife. He tried to remember to keep his humanity while inside the snakes, to not think in snake terms. That alone could change the outcome of the new runes.

He spoke with Mr. Steel about starting the new set. The older man had agreed with his reasoning, but had left it up to Harry to tell the others. He was not looking forward to that, knowing they would not approve. But he felt it was something he had to do.

"Kerr?"

The older boy, turned, smiling. Harry was struck by how much he had grown up, how much they had all grown up. Had it really been almost three years?

"I'm about to leave, did you need something?"

"Oh, that's right, I forgot you worked today. Um, can we talk when you get back?"

"Sure, okay."

Kerr smiled and waved, before heading out the door. Harry's shoulders slumped. Great. Now he had to dread that talk all day long.

"Something on your mind, Ghost?"

Mikes voice drifted from the doorway. Harry turned, meeting his eyes. The other boy seemed to sense his nervousness and honed in on it. His face turned serious.

"You can talk to me too, you know. You don't always have to go to him."

Harry raised a surprised eyebrow. He had never thought Mike might be jealous of Kerr always being the leader, the one in charge. The confidant. Harry sighed, and then motioned him to sit with him.

"I guess. I, well, I am going to do another runic set."

Mike did not immediately burst out with questions. It seemed the boy was growing up. He thought for a minute.

"I see. Why?"

Harry looked down at the table, tracing an invisible rune. _Ankh_. He snatched his hand back, before folding them in his lap.

"I need the extra strength it will give me. It's an advantage."

"Is the advantage worth the risk? The pain that you had to go through?"

"Yes, I would say it will be. Also, I am doing a lot more planning this time. Nothing will be left to chance. I think the magic will be happier, too. It knows I am serious, it knows I know the rules."

"You talk like magic is a person, or something. With feelings."

Mike frowned. Harry shook his head, unsure how to proceed. How do you explain magic to the magicless? It was like explaining water to fire, _it is what you are not_.

"I'm not saying magic is an actual person, but it does seem to have a presence of its own, a sentience. And the more magic being used, or gathered in one place, the more sentient it is. That is why the ritual got more intense, there at the end. But I have a pattern now, as well. I've started on the path. I know, now, that the first set was the most dangerous. Not that I'm saying there is no risk, 'cause I'm not."

Harry wanted to pull his hair out in frustration. Mike still looked confused.

"So, you are saying that you are going to, once more, cut yourself with tiny emblems to gain some modicum of magical power over your magical counterparts, risking death and certain pain, but it's okay because at least it won't be as bad as the last time?"

"You don't understand!" Harry burst out.

"I think I do! I think this blood magic stuff has you in its grip! I think it's making you want to do this! I know you didn't want to continue there at the end last time!"

"I was scared, but it's okay now!"

"_No, it's not!"_

They were yelling back and forth now, the volume rising with each interjection.

"_What is going on here!?_"

Mr. Steel's stern voice came from the doorway. Tiny stared at his feet, just behind him. The younger boy must have gotten the man when he heard them arguing. Harry sat back down, realizing that he had stood up at some point. He felt the fight drain out of him.

"I am doing the set. My reasons are my own."

He spoke calmly, to the point. He did not look at the other boy.

"You are going to let him do this, then?"

Mike asked Mr. Steel, questioning. Harry looked up at that, met Steel's eyes. The man stared at him, his eyes unreadable, before turning to look at the other boy.

"I do not think it is up to me to stop him."

"Are you not our guardian? Is that not what you are _supposed_ to do, _Sir? _Make decisions for us? Because from where I'm standing, you are doing a shitty job!"

Mike fumed, his hands balled into fists. Harry could not believe what the boy had said. He glanced quickly between the two of them as they stared each other down. Mike looked away first, red in the face. Mr. Steel finally spoke.

"I do my best by you boys, I always have. And when the times comes, I let each of you go on your own paths. Harry, here, he has a different path than any of you to take. It requires him to grow up much sooner, to make his own decisions, and live with his own mistakes. I cannot protect him where he is going, but I can at least help and teach him while he is here. All of you are my family, Mike, all of you boys and all the ones who came before. I love you like I would have loved my own sons."

"I'm glad you are not my father, then."

With that last quiet snide remark, Mike turned and left the room furious. Mr. Steel's face looked anguished before it was hidden by that calm facade again. Tiny followed Mike out of the room, sending a last accusing glance back at Harry. He wanted to melt. This was why he should have told Kerr first. The older boy could have at least helped him break the news to the others, and maybe none of this would have happened. It was impossible to take back words once they had been said. He turned to Mr. Steel.

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean for it to go that way."

"I know, Harry. I know. He is only worried about you." The man sighed, his shoulders falling. He leaned more heavily on the cane that he carried with him. Harry spoke up again, earnestly.

"He shouldn't have said that to you."

"He did not mean it." Mr. Steel replied.

_But it still hurt anyway._ Harry thought but did not say.

The man turned and left slowly, and Harry was reminded of how old he was. The man still had a head full of white hair, but he walked slumped, leaning on his cane. There were more wrinkles on his face, and more spots speckled across his skin. Just how old was he? Harry leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as his thoughts circled one another.

* * *

Kerr took the news better than Mike, thought he was no happier about it. It took another good week for the boys to come to terms with the news, though Mike still refused to speak civilly to Mr. Steel. Tiny had a hit a growth spurt over the summer, and was now about to meet and surpass Mike in height. The boys had joked around about giving Tiny a new nickname.

"Maybe Beanpole, perhaps?" To which they had laughed as Tiny spluttered.

"My name is Benjamin, actually."

The other boys fell silent, shocked. Harry was confused. He knew that the younger boy had always been called Tiny, but he had assumed that the others at least knew his real name. Hadn't they?

"Well, you will always be our little Tiny Whiny to us!"

Mike had quipped, before grabbing the boy and fluffing his hair. The mood was broken and jokes once more abounded. Harry smiled, joining in.

* * *

"So, Benjamin? Do you want me to call you that?"

Harry asked quietly after supper. Tiny looked up, and paused, before shaking his head.

"I just wanted you guys to know. Mr. Steel knew, he had to for all the papers and such, for when I leave here and take my tests so I can get a job. But, I like Tiny. It's the name I was given, here, it's who I am. So what if it doesn't fit anymore? It's kind of like Little John, in those Robin Hood stories. He wasn't little either."

Harry nodded along, he could understand. He knew how important a name could be, and wondered if he would ever escape the connotation of Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived. He had no idea how people would approach him, react to him. If only he could simply change his own name and start over. If only he could be just plain old Harry again. Nothing was ever that simple, however. _If only…._

He left the room with a wave, marching back upstairs to put the finishing touches on his plans. He would start the ritual again in only a week, and he wanted everything to be ready. This time would be perfect.

* * *

Harry was rushing, reading fast, wanting to finish Modern Magical History before the ritual began to take him over again. It was in going through this book that he caught a reference that stole his attention. '...after the conference in 1919, whence blood magic was declared most unsuitable and illegal to the common wizarding welfare...' Wait, what? He looked back, skimming over the paragraph and beyond it. He looked back again. Illegal? The book was vague, giving no hint on what blood magic entailed.

He finally slammed the book shut, fuming. He stood up, pacing back and forth. Should he ask Mr. Steel? Research on his own? Where would he start? He knew there were no books on law; the lack thereof had been gone over many times. Finally, he went downstairs, the book earmarked in his hand. Mr. Steel was in the living room, watching the evening news. Harry sat down beside him, watching for a minute.

"Nothing about the attack, Harry. Nothing odd, anyhow. We can only assume they passed you off as a drugged hallucination."

Harry nodded, that attack far from his mind for the first time in over a month. He finally flipped the book open, absently tapping the paragraph as he turned to look at Mr. Steel.

"Sir, do you know... if what I am doing is illegal? By wizarding standards?"

Mr. Steel turned to look at him. Finally, he clicked off the T.V. and waved Harry to follow him into the office. He sat gingerly in his chair, looking him over.

"I wondered if you came across that reference."

Harry narrowed his eyes, suspension beginning to gather.

"You knew?"

"It is only a suspicion, Harry. We do not know for sure."

"But you can guess! _Blood Magic_. It even sounds kind of evil, doesn't it? Or Dark, as they like to say? If anything was going to be blood magic, I would say the runic rituals were it."

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, telling himself to calm down, to control himself. He could not afford to lose his temper.

"Harry, I thought it was worth the risk, and we do not know..."

"You thought it was, sir. You did not ask me, did not tell me you thought it might be illegal."

Be calm, he told himself. Calm.

"I told you it will need to be hidden.." Mr. Steel tried to continue.

"As an advantage! A secret weapon!" Harry clenched his fists, staring hard at the desk in front of him, unseeing.

"That as well, and who would punish a child for such a crime?"

Harry stared blankly at the older man, his anger draining away, replaced by a deep hurt. He spoke with a trembling voice.

"Because children do not know better, right? Especially poor abandoned orphans, taken in by evil Muggles?"

Mr. Steel shook his head, violently.

"It's not like that Harry, you know this! Think! This was to protect you! Do not doubt it now! So what, we have a backup plan for if you are caught, it works, and you are blameless. Why are you so upset?"

"Because, what if the wizards _did_ kick me out? Was that your plan, in the end? To tie me to yourself, an outlaw from the wizards, my only recourse to expose them to the Muggle world? A revenge tactic?"

Mr. Steel began to get a lost look in his eyes as he lost control of the conversation, only helplessly shaking his head. Harry heard that sarcastic voice, Mike's voice, in his head whispering about politics, and alibis, and ulterior motives.

"Harry, I only did what I thought best for the plan..."

Harry stared, uncomprehending. Finally he raised his eyes to the older mans. _Why couldn't he do what was best for Harry instead? _He wanted to ask. It probably did not even need to be said.

"Why couldn't you just love me?"

Mr. Steel closed his eyes, his head lowering. His entire posture screamed defeated. Harry did not feel like the victor. He felt like the victim. And he hated it. He stood purposefully, throwing off the sadness like a cloak to be put on later.

"I'm still going to do the runes. But not for you, not any more. I'm doing them for me. _For myself_. And I will decide what to do with any knowledge I gain from the wizarding world. It will be my choice! _Mine!_"

He spit out the last and left the room, returning to his room. Only then did he let the tears flow, blotting the pages of his notes as he sat at his desk. He vowed to himself to never be a pawn again in someone else's game. Mike was right about that. Harry was too trusting, too weak. He was asking to be taken advantage of. He pulled himself together, focusing on his notes. He only had a few days.

Best to be prepared.

* * *

It was rare for a full moon to fall on a winter solstice. Even rarer still was for it to be in Perigee, the point in its orbit where it was closest to earth. In effect, this made it look larger and more luminescent in the sky. For Harry walking through the woods, it looked almost bright as day. Even without his superior vision it was possible to walk about without a light. He took it to be a good omen, a blessing of sorts. An affirmation.

The past three days had been full of stony silences. The boys, not liking Harry doing the ritual. Mr. Steel, not defending his motives. Harry, confused and yet purposeful. Under the light of the full moon, Harry pushed all of that away. It was only noise, white noise in the background of his life. His ritual night.

He would start with three runes on his skull, one every two weeks. One for memory, one for discerning, one for physical reflexes. A triad, making a Triskelion symbol once completed on the back of his head. Too bad his hair would cover it, he thought with a chuckle.

He entered the circle, feeling happy and carefree. There was something about this, beginning the ritual, the dance, which seemed so amazing and full of light. Perhaps it was simply the moon. How could this be Dark? Then Harry glanced down at Dread, and retracted that thought. The cobras hissed up at him, only a thought taken to wake them now. The dagger was much stronger magically now, some part of the completed ritual previously done imparted to it. At times it seemed almost like a presence within his thoughts, a constant hissing hum. A song.

He knelt gently, Dread twining around his arms, _giving-great-fear,_ in _these-troubled-times_, it_ was_, it was so _bright_. The light rising forth behind his eyes, spreading out and pouring forth, lapping along the edges of his body, circling and twining like a snake holding him in its coils, in love, loving him._ Master,_ it said.

"_Master."_

"_Yes." _

Harry hissed, opening his eyes, staring into Dread. The snakes tongues darted in and out, scales gleaming in the moonlight. A frigid wind blew through the clearing, stirring his hair on the clear night. It would be sacrilegious for such a marvelous night to be marred by clouds. Dread hissed.

"_Such Great Light, Master, that we have seen. One, of Many?"_

"_The First, of Many." _

He answered, the hissing song tickling his throat as it too rose up, a snake song to the moon, at its brightest point. He joined his mind to the dagger, let it shape his thoughts, let it rise up farther still, his wings spread out behind him, his power boundless on this night, this hour. For this purpose. His hair fell away at the touch of the blade as wheat sifted through by the wind, piece by piece by piece, exposing the skin underneath. For the first swirl in the Triskelion, the first rune, _Mnemosyne_. Greek for a Greek symbol, the basis for Muse and Memory, a personified goddess to aid the gods. To aid in remembering, retaining, recollecting, retention. A swirling pain, swift, final.

"_Mnemosyne."_

Memory. Harry opened his eyes, his own, gasping. The magic took hold instantly, withdrawing into his body, exploring this new path, considering, taking its place. He smiled, looking up at the moon. There was nothing like this feeling of power.

* * *

Reading took on a whole new meaning. He felt as if he had never read before, never truly grasped. He spent a day just reading a book, staring at the page, soaking in the information. It took him longer to read, but he remembered. He could almost see it in his mind, information made up of patterns and dots and lines. _Wonderful._

* * *

Darkness, a cloudy night obscuring a moon that could not be seen. He touched the knife to his skull, looking from another's eyes, his magic a bead of light sustaining the dagger's flight. Another swirl, another rune to aid him. A rune for thought, this time, mental fortitude, quick thinking. A riddle solved.

"_Ainigma."_

* * *

Exhilaration, the completion of two runes of seven. Harry flew again over the town, unseeing. He was filled with it, the thrumming of light and magic. The night was open to him, and he cut it with his wings, he tore a hole in the wind. How had wizards ever given this up? Why? What had wand magic over this? A part of him knew, spoke of flexibility and usability and _structure_ and _risk_, but the greater part of him now was filled with runes, and it spoke only one word.

_Power._

* * *

"Harry."

Kerr put a hand on his shoulder, and Harry fought not to shrug it off.

"Harry, we are behind you. Okay? You can come to us if you need anything."

Behind him Tiny and Mike nodded. None of them smiled. Harry did not either.

"Okay."

He walked back to his room, forgetting why he had come downstairs in the first place.

* * *

Again, a full moon, the end of January. Snow coated the ground, rising hills of white, shining and glinting as his wings did, a cold feathery substance. He fleetingly wished he had done the runes for temperature tolerance first. Oh well.

The last in the Triskelion on his skull, a third rune to complete a greater design, Greek as its root. A rune for reflex, for power and strength and force. To speed up his body to the space of his thoughts, a faster reaction, a faster response. So body would equal mind.

"_Dunamis."_

* * *

When he woke up, his hair had once more regrown to cover the completed rune. Good. No more awkward looks from the others. He made himself sit up, swung his legs over the side of the bed. He saw Dread out of the corner of his eyes, coiled around his wrist. He smiled, running a finger down the red snake. It hissed in pleasure, staring up at him, its eyes glowing. The green one nudged his finger, and he tickled its chin, chuckling at its delight. A cough at the door drew his attention

Tiny stood awkwardly, staring at the floor. His cheeks were red, as if he had caught Harry doing something embarrassing. He supposed tickling animated snake shaped knives was pretty weird. He stood up, stretching.

"Is something wrong?"

"Um, breakfast is ready. Its, well, it's been a day."

Harry stared blankly for a second, before blinking in surprise.

"I've been asleep for a whole day?"

"Yeah."

Tiny dragged the tip of his shoe across the threshold nervously, shifting his weight back and forth.

"Okay. I'm sorry. I'll be right down."

"Oh! It's okay, I didn't mean it like that. I mean, we were worried. Okay."

Tiny blurted out, then darted from the room and stomped downstairs. Harry followed with a sigh at a slower pace. Every lift of his foot seemed planned, every sway required thought. This would take some getting used to. _How was this a benefit, exactly,_ he wondered as he looked down the stairs. He lifted one foot after the other gingerly, gripping the railing tightly. He got the hang of it once he reached the bottom, and practically fell into the chair left out for him.

"You alright there, Harry? Rested up?"

Mike laughed, breaking the silence. Harry smiled, the expression feeling odd on his face. What had gotten into him lately, anyway? He relaxed, and allowed himself to banter with the others, who gladly feel back into their old routine. It felt nice to have a normal breakfast.

* * *

It took him a few days to acclimate. The Triskelion must have interfered with the overall set in some way. Being a set of three within a set of seven, perhaps? He could find no references to that phenomenon inside his book, and cursed his lack of knowledge. It must not have been the best idea, to make three runes into the shape of one, but he had been following his instincts. Sometimes, he felt like it was the magic that was guiding him. Was that good, or bad? Was magic at its heart dark, or light? Nothing had the answer. There probably wasn't one.

The next two would be easy, at least, and straightforward. As much as could be, anyhow, when it came to blood magic. Using life itself to channel magic was never simple, truly.

* * *

This time, he reluctantly pulled off his coat and shirt, before hurriedly whipping his wings out and around himself to block the bitter wind. It was snowing heavily, and there couldn't be a worse day to be outside in this bloody weather. He started to shake as he linked with the knife, hissing his commands mentally. The knife hovered above his right side, waiting. He focused, thinking warmth, and relief, and _please-god-I'm-so-cold-make-it-warm-soon. _

"_Thermos."_

Warmth, blessed warmth, radiating out from the rune. It was not enough to block the frigidity present, but it took off the edge. He gasped as he hurriedly shrugged his clothes back on. He ran back to the house, feet barely touching the ground in his haste.

* * *

Harry grumbled as he walked back out to the clearing. The last two weeks had been horrible, his body temperature fluctuating at the drop of a hat. One minute comfortable, the next steaming hot, the next freezing cold. If this next rune did not balance things out he did not know what he would do.

He knelt and again shed his outer clothes, Dread already active and hissing. It had loved the warmth that he sometimes radiated, and took the cold as a personal offense. More and more it seemed a true snake, but the blade always reminded Harry of its true state. It was an object, no more, no less.

"_Please, winged-speaker, do not bring the cold."_

The green cobra pleaded, the red one hissing accompaniment. Harry was beginning to distinguish between the two, the green being Great-Fear, the red Troubled-Times. Or sometimes, in quick hissing conversation, simply Fear and Trouble. The snakes seemed pleased with this, twining around his arm in happiness. Harry answered the question absently.

"_I hope-greatly this will cure the sickness."_

Well, that was one way to put it anyway. He glanced at the full moon, frowning, before linking with Dread. It was almost second nature now, so naturally did it come to him to become one with the knife. As if the dagger was merely another body that he inhabited every once in a while, a vacation home on the ocean. Familiar, loved.

He focused on his left side, let the blade rest against the skin, waiting, feeling the magic inside himself rise and wait with him. He felt the moon, his moon, full and shining on his upturned face. How she loved to bring forth the magic in him. He wondered if this was how a werewolf felt, singing praise to the _mother-moon_ that birthed it. The cold wind caressed his skin, bringing his mind back to focus. Cold, yes, that's right. A rune to bring forth cold, to balance the heat. Always in balance, the runes must be, always. Cold, a chill, a frigid wind.

"_Psuchros."_

He hissed aloud in complaint as cold filled his body, and he quickly drew back from Dread, separating himself from the discomfort the knife felt. Wait, _felt?_ Objects couldn't_ feel_. He frowned, and then resolved to think on it later, when it wasn't so bloody cold. He shoved his arms back into his coat, and hurried back to the house.

* * *

He was surprised it had not occurred to him earlier. After the first set, Dread had done many things that did not seem to correlate with its purpose. It not only could feel the cold that it had the other night, but had also commented on the warmth coming from his body. He had thought at first it was just a figure of speech, but linked with it... it truly felt something. It could also see, somehow, through the jewels that made up its eyes. The knife was changing, becoming more real. Something was going on with it, something he could not explain. His own magic was changing it, turning it into something else.

Now, at times, it seemed the snakes could, with only a little extra effort, actually separate themselves from the blade portion of the knife. If this actually came to pass Harry was not sure how he would react. He would be shocked, that for sure. But also happy, in a way. It would mean Dread was more than just a ritual knife; it instead could have the potential to be a real being, a friend of sorts, a companion.

Harry laid the knife across his legs as he sat on the bed. He ran his finger across the scales, contemplating what he was going to do. There had been no clues in his books, nothing about inanimate objects coming to life. He hoped once he entered the wizarding world he could find out more, but until then he was on his own doing what he did best: improvisation. He narrowed his eyes and began to speak the lilting serpent tongue.

"_Awake, serpents."_

Green and red eyes began to gleam, sentience growing as the snakes shifted slightly, falling into their natural sway. Fangs retracted and mouths closed as tongues slipped out, tasting, testing. They were beautiful, full of sparkling stones and steel.

He wanted to ask them if they were alive. If they could be alive. Did they even have a mind, did they learn and remember?

"_Does life-blood run through you? Does your heart beat?"_

Two tongues slipped forth from metallic mouths as eyes gleamed up at him in the low light.

"_Our hearts beat with your life-magic-blood, and will do so until there is no more."_

"_No more what?"_

Harry questioned. He figured it was his own magic that gave them whatever form of life they enacted.

"_No more heat. No more life. No more blood."_

Well, that was clear. He was stuck with the knife until he died. He had read that a ritual knife was only usable by one wizard during their lifetime, and a wizard could only use one ritual knife unless the previous one was completely obliterated: a hard feat to accomplish.

"_Can you release the blade?"_

A swift uncoiling was his only warning to move his feet before the sharp edge of the blade fell away and hit the floor, the two snakes twining about his hands now with hissing laughter. It seemed a sense of humor might be developing as well, Harry thought vaguely, trying to wrap his mind around this strange turn of events. He bent and picked up the blade carefully, the hilt now only consisting of a cross shaped cylinder that the snakes had been curled around.

"_What are you?"_

The snakes reared back, their heads rising as one to look at one another, a strange mirroring effect. Then they turned again to look at him.

"_We are what you wish, Master. We are Giving-Great-Fear-In-Troubled-Times."_

"_I...see."_

His magic had made them thus? He leaned back, raising the snakes in his hands to look them over. They felt cool, like metal against fingers. Their scales were hard, yet also supple. They felt alive, had a give to them that live flesh would have. He touched the dagger, its solid, hard blade. It was a direct contrast, what the snakes had been, and what they were now. Even the colored stones had somehow been merged into their scales, looking more like living scales. The stones in their eyes had even seemed to develop a snakes outer membrane, giving them a realistic look.

If his magic could make Dread truly alive, based on his own desire, what else could it do? Could it also transform Dread into a form that would make the dagger easier to carry with him? Or perhaps, even make it impossible to separate it from him?

"_Hold the blade."_

He commanded, and watched as they complied immediately, once more twining about the hilt. Serpentine eyes observed him, waiting. Harry wracked his mind, thinking. A spell, but one that he did not know, if one even existed. But it came down to will, right? The language did not matter, this he knew. So, will it.

Harry brought out his magic, saw the shining path from his magic to Dread, giving it its life. This was his doing, knowing or not. He had done this, so what was to stop him from doing more? He mentally grasped the light, trying to hold it even as it shined from between his grasp. Its nature was not given to being held. He tried to remember the words from the original bonding, tried to envision his purpose.

"_Blade-of-mine, Flesh and Steel, Yield. Yield!"_

A command this time, a taking instead of a giving. Dread hissed, its hoods flaring, its fangs exposed, and he gulped as he felt a shiver of fear run down his spine. The shining magic inside it flared ever brighter as the knife seemed to collapse within itself twisting, curving, a rictus of silver and green and red, a snake-river of magic flooding into him, the sharp press of a blade against his heart.

He opened eyes he had not known he had closed, looking at his empty hands. He stared for a minute, before sitting up and looking down at nothing. The dagger was gone. He jumped up, spinning around, to see if it had fell on his bed, but the knife was nowhere to be seen. His heart raced, and he looked over his arms, his legs, his torso. He could see no evidence of it on his person. He stripped off his clothes, looking for some sort of tattoo or scar, but could find nothing. Finally he once more felt for his magic, looking over its dotted presence through his body, for a sign of the dagger. _There._

A snake shaped constellation of magic coiled around his magical core, twin heads resting on two tails. Feathered wings rose from its back, and the name came to him in a burst of inspiration. _Quetzalcoatl! _Was this, then, what that winged symbol on the blade had meant all along? Hidden potential, a clue, waiting for someone to discover it? He spoke its name in wonder. _Feathered Serpent._

"_Quetzalcoatl."_

The serpent moved, spreading wings, rising from within himself, rising ever out and out, light turning to steel the same way his own wings would expand, and that thought brought them out as well, feathered steel clashing with steel, and Harry opened his eyes to behold with wonder a changed dagger. The same blade was now clasped by a single silver feathered snake, wings outstretched in challenge. Green eyes to match his own stared up at him, its hood now consisting of long red feathers instead, its spine dotted with subtle red and green glinting jeweled scales. He spoke its name.

"_Giving-Great-Fear-In-Troubled-Times."_

"_We were, I am."_

The snake regally replied, looking him over. Harry found himself amazed again at the wonders of magic.

"_How?"_

The snake did not reply, merely coiling again around the hilt of the dagger, content to watch him. Perhaps it did not know either. He found himself with more questions than he had had to begin with. Being taken into himself had changed the daggers form, had made it into something that resembled himself. The patterns along its wings matched his own, and he wondered if it too could fly. Harry smiled. He did so love magic.

And now, he had a way to take the dagger with him in such a way that the wizards could not take it from him, no matter how illegal, how dark. It was his, the same as his magic, his blood, his soul. A piece of himself.

And he would never let it go.

* * *

The concept for the last two runes stemmed from a book he had read about camouflage in the wizarding world. It had been filled with facts about demiguises and invisibility cloaks, but also talked of notice-me-not charms and spells to muffle sound and blind enemies. To Harry, it seemed that he needed a spell to make himself simply be overlooked. To make himself look normal, or as people expected him to be. A passive rune, that he could activate when he was around the wizards, or when he needed extra stealth. The first would be tied to his wings, so that if he was flying, people below would see him, and assume he was supposed to be there, part of the scenery, just another bird or plane passing overhead. A sort of notice-me-not rune. Much like the charms that made Muggles ignore buildings that were right in front of their faces.

The second brother rune would be identical, but tied to the physical evidence of his runes, the scars themselves. If he could not hide his runes from someone with magical sight looking, then he would make it so that they would not look at all, would not feel the need to look deeper than the surface. The only weakness with the two runes was that they relied on the person looking not being suspicious already. They could be overcome by someone whose will was great enough, or who knew something was supposed to be there. The case being his lightning bolt scar. Every wizard would be expecting him to have it, would be looking for it. It was too noticeable to be affected by the rune. However, if the wizards did not know who he was, and was not looking for the scar, than it would go undetected.

It was the best solution he could come up with. It would hide the presence of his runes, and would help hide his wings, and himself if he went flying. He was not sure if he was brave enough to test it during daylight, but it was a start. Once he got a wand, he would try to learn some invisibility charms and spells, and perhaps even some potions. Until then, this is what he had to work with.

* * *

In his study of Greek he had developed a love for Greek mythology. It was perhaps his only excuse to himself for the word he had devised for activating the rune on his neck, a notice-me-not-like charm dedicated to hiding both his wing tattoo, and his wings when he had them out in flight: _Ikaros_. He had avoided the more common Latin spelling Icarus, going with the original Greek to match his other runes. He liked the look of it underneath the _Triskelion_; How the Greek letters seemed to spiral down like an unfurled scroll on his notes. He drew it over and over again, tracing the outline, memorizing its every block and dash. He knew that he was getting obsessed again, drawn into the magic in the ritual. He also knew what had happened after the sixth rune the last time, and took every advantage to fly at night and exercise his wings.

He did not look forward to losing his magic again.

In his spare time he read Mythology, imagining spells similar to the magic of the Greek gods, imagining a wizarding world that sprawled across the mountain Olympus. He considered its truth, wondering if perhaps it was even true, for if magic could hide castles and alleys and villages, why couldn't it hide a mountain? It would be an interesting fact behind a popular fiction.

His school work fell behind, but it no longer mattered to him, lost in his world of ancient languages and runes and magic and flight. Those two weeks between runes five and six passed as if in a dream, and when he left the house on the night of the new moon it was with Dread curled about his neck, the Quetzalcoatl resting its feathered head against his cheek, its own wings spread out to mimic his own, the blade dangling down his back held loosely by an errant coil. He walked on magic, breathed in magic, embraced the rise and fall of its tide as it carried him forward into the clearing, as it pressed him into the ground, lifted his chin, and he did not remember taking off his shirt, did not remember the passing of time as he stared up at the clear sky.

Dread rose in his mind, his thoughts, and soon he was born in flight in another body, flying as a feathered snake, so similar and yet so foreign, steel grasped in his scales. Thoughts not his own were thought, of hiding and not being seen, of passing unnoticed, of being the silent predator behind the still prey, the _attack-from-above_, the _silent-wings_, the _dark-shadow-on-the-ground_.

Quick slashes, sharp cuts, a blade touching skin again and again, a word, a rune.

"_Ikaros."_

Harry felt the moment the rune was completed, the light flooding in and accepting, and with it the limits on the rune, of not flying too close to people, of not expending the power in the rune too much at one time. His wings stretched out behind him, steel glinting in the starlight. He wanted to fly, wanted to touch the stars with his wings, wanted to light up the world with his magic.

Then it was gone. Everything, down to the least feather, the dimmest light.

Harry groaned, collapsing in the dirt. He felt an ache in his chest, and rested his hand against _Ankh_. The stretched out feeling increased, his magic pushed to its limit. It was almost too soon to add the extra burden on his magic, the runic sets too close together. He should have waited longer he thought with another groan, rolling onto his back to stare up at the sky. He rolled his eyes around, looking for Dread, only for the answer to prick his heart. The dagger was inside, locked in his magic. Not even the presence of the snake would comfort him the next two weeks.

He watched the sky, feeling the breeze against his face. He was so tired, and felt so lost. He had hoped, somehow, that this time this wouldn't happen. That the magic would sense his intent, know of his dedication. That it would not take itself from him again. He felt defenseless, powerless. Useless. What would happen if he was attacked between a sixth and seventh rune? If he did this in the wizarding world, he could be killed. And surely the lack would be noticed. How would he ever do this again?

He raised his left palm to his face, looking over _Heth_ in the dim light. The sun was slowly rising, illuminating everything in a soft gray glow. He stayed for a few minutes longer before dragging himself to his feet. He could not let the others see just how affected he was. It was bad enough how he had been acting the last few weeks. He did not want to add this on top of it.

* * *

In the next two weeks, he remembered he had a family. He spent time with the boys, worked on school work, helped with chores. He ignored his runes, confidant he knew everything he needed to in order to complete the ritual. He spent long hours talking with Mr. Steel about plans for the future, and planned out his eleventh birthday. He walked alone in the woods, and made plans with himself. He wanted to be great, wanted to be powerful, if only so that he could defend those he called family. He wanted to find out the truth.

He wanted to be a part of something good.

Kerr broke the news to the other boys that he was moving out in August, after Harry's eleventh birthday. He was going to go back to London, and run the furniture store for Mr. Steel. Mike was going with him after he finished his tests, and together they would complete orders and make new custom designs. Mr. Steel said he was getting old, getting ready to retire, but they all knew the truth. The man would be busy with Harry, with anything they found. Tiny did not like being left behind, but he was too young and unprepared to get a legal job. He had a few more years of schooling left, and only Mr. Steel could provide that.

Harry hated the thought of things changing. The last year had been wonderful, had felt like a real family. But perhaps this, too, was part of being a family. People growing up, moving on. Just like Harry was going to move on. For a time.

The physical distance would also prove a measure of protection for Kerr and Mike. If Mr. Steel was exposed, perhaps they could escape the fallout in the future. It would also provide Harry with another haven, another place he could go. Harry was not sure if he would take it in such a case, if he would let danger follow him back. Mr. Steel made it known that he did not expect Harry to return, not for a while, but that they had ways of staying in contact. Harry would find a way, in any case.

Mr. Steel made little known to Harry about his mysterious compatriots, but did let Harry know that in the future they would all meet face to face, especially when Harry returned from the Wizarding World. Harry made mental lists of things Mr. Steel wanted, from books on law to magical specimens and potions. It would be years before they could make informed decisions, and too little information was known to even know how to proceed. Harry was instrumental in their efforts, but he wished he knew what their motives were. If he had seen anything, it was that Muggles could have just as much potential for evil as their Wizarding counterparts. Who was he to choose one over the other? He kept his thoughts from Mr. Steel.

Finally the moon began to brighten again, filling up the sky more and more each night. Harry watched it, eager, waiting impatiently. He needed this, needed it like he needed air to breathe, food to eat, sleep at night. He needed magic.

* * *

_The-hour-before-it-ends._ How poetic, how justified, how right. Harry had spent the day alone, waiting, still. Nothing mattered, but watching the sky, waiting, always waiting. As the sun crept across the sky, shadows moving across the ground, birds singing and bugs crawling, a crisp breeze, clouds forming and falling apart. The world moved, and Harry waited, still.

"_Mnemosyne."_

The first in the Triskelion on the back of his skull. He spoke its name, spoke its place. It was dusk now, the light losing out to the night, the sun dragged down behind the trees, a moon hung low in the sky, rising. Moonlight and starlight, one and the same, and his magic rose with it, an ominous presence, a gathering of constellations and light. Dread coalesced around him, feathers tickling his skin, hisses ringing in his ears, the snake a part of his _life-magic-blood_, his soul.

"_Ainigma."_

The second rune, a twirl of light.

"_Dunamis."_

To complete the Triskelion, the threefold triangle, the trinity of the mind.

"_Thermos."_

_The-hour-before-it-ends. _A time of preparation. Greatest-light hanging in the sky, and his wings came forth as well, a rising tide on an ocean of magic, a upwelling, his runes beginning to glow with power, and it burned, a physical branding. He lifted his voice in a silent scream, his body charged and overflowing, his light was too bright, too much for him to hold, too powerful and free. It spun forth like a web of stars, anchored to his soul with _Ankh_, and he could see now how he would have died, would have fallen apart were it not for that one rune, that one necessary ingredient. Oroboros. Eternity. Life. Blood.

"_Psuchros."_

He tasted it in his mouth, a coppery tang. Blood ran like water from his runes, his hair caked with it, and he was so glad he had taken off his clothes because it would never come out otherwise, and it _hurt_, it was _too much._

"_Ikaros."_

Harry forced his eyes open, forced himself to take hold of the blade, pressed the point with a hand against the center of his chest, right to the right of _Ankh. _Then he was no longer Harry, he was _Giving-Great-Fear-In-Troubled-Times_, he was coiling around the blade, taking it from the Master's limp hand, he was controlling the sharp prick of the knife, he was inscribing a word, over and over and over, the same word, circling _Ankh_, more than needed, but it was_ necessary,_ it was a _sacrifice_, a sacrifice of _life-blood-magic_, for the_ life-blood-magic, _for the _mother-moon_, _the-greatest-light_, in this_ hour-before-it-ends_. To keep silent, to hide the inner soul, this thing which a predator conceals from other predators, the sharp pain, the slow poison. A secret, a hidden thing, only brought to life when it comes time to _strike-the-softest-place_, to kill, to defend the nest, to slide and slither and be the_ king-of-serpents..._

"_Kruptos!"_

Harry blurted it out, before Dread could take over completely, before it could twist the magic more than it had already done so, before the _magic-light _could take hold and turn him into something he was not, did not want to be.

The magic returned to him at once, was inside him again, circling through the runes, purring and growling and seeking, counting. Seven, Seven, Seven. He was whole again, one creature. One, of Many, One with Many. Dread hissed, twining about his outstretched arms, singing with his magic even as its feathered wings, suddenly sharp, cut into his forearms, followed by fangs. And the pain was a bright light against his eyes, magic given and returned, an endless circle.

Harry flowed to his feet, his wings silver in the moonlight, the black edges stark in the night, a brindled pattern that seemed to change even as they spread wide, a sharp beat of his heart, and he was aloft. Dread flew with him, its own wings reflecting light, a razor's glitter, a clanging retort. The snake's body glimmered green and red, its feathered crest raised in excitement, and his magic swept them both up and out, higher and higher, to a height he had never reached, and his lungs burned with the need for air, but it was only another pain on top of all the others and did not matter.

He felt like a star, a rising star soon to fall, born aloft by magic and life and blood, and he had never felt like this, this height of power. Is this darkness? Is this evil? His mind followed the thought as a dog followed a rabbit's scent, across the grass and sky. This was magic, darkness and light, the two intertwined together, and one without the other would not exist, and he was there inside it for a moment, and it loved him.

He was let down gently, the way a broken bird is set on the ground, wings pinned against its limp body. He was wasted, rung out, used up. His eyes still saw though he could not move, and Dread was still and silent against his chest, only the rise and fall of its chest belying life, and since when had it needed to breathe?

He closed his eyes, and smiled, feeling a soft caress against his magic, the _mother-moon'_s last touch as she left the sky, thanking him for his flight, his journey, his sacrifice, and letting the sun rise to take her vigil in the sky. A sun which bore down on him, hot and burning, a stern father whose magic he had not felt until now, he a creature of the night, and not given to sunlight. So different, so judging, so set in its ways. It had its own way of turning, its own seasons and swellings, and it reminded him of that with a hot brand against his chest, _Ankh_ turned to fire. It would not be ignored.

"Harry!"

He gasped, opening his eyes at the voice.

"Oh my god, Harry, _Harry_, can you hear me? _Harry?_"

He looked up into Mike's panicked face, and wondered what had gotten the normally stoic boy so upset.

* * *

Mr. Steel sat at his computer, staring at the screen blankly. The chat window was open, all members present. A tiny glowing green icon blinks steadily, signaling that the session was live.

_Blink._

_**The boy?**_

_Blink. _

_Blink. _

_Blink_

_**He came through fine.**_

Fine. That was one thing to call the battered and broken body they had carried upstairs, which Kerr had painstakingly washed of blood, Tiny crying in the background. Harry had not woken besides a few moments of lucidity when they first found him, rambling about stars and the moon and the sun and the balance of magic. They assumed the ritual had worked, given that Harry was still alive, still had his magic. The odd dagger was different, changed into some feathered snake, which hissed at them and stayed coiled beside Harry on the bed, the blade itself nowhere to be seen.

_Blink. _

_Blink._

_**Do we proceed?**_

_Blink._

_**Yes.**_

Yes, they would, because what else then had it been for, all the pain, all the planning? None of the boys would look at him; they blamed him for getting Harry into this mess, for leading him down this path. But it was Harry's choice! And under the blood and exhaustion the boy was fine, no wounds, no bruises, no broken bones or skin. Harry had wanted this, had planned it out.

_Blink_

He thought of the spider web of scars across Harry's arms, of the runes that he couldn't quite see, that were now hidden from even his sight, and all but invisible to the others. Harry had done well, had pulled it off. They were ready.

_**We are ready on our end.**_

_Blink._

_**Here as well. We will wait for report on first contact.**_

_Blink._

What was he supposed to say? That he couldn't wait, he was so happy to be this close, that he was thinking of backing out, of taking the boy and hiding him somewhere safe, where no man or Muggle or Wizard could hurt him, of giving him back his innocence, his happiness, his childhood? And what, then? If only, if only he had thought this through before, if only he had not been so certain, so selfish, so _obsessed._

_Blink._

_Blink._

_Blink._

_Blink._

_Blink._

_**July 31st?**_

A question. A query. Are you serious? Are you certain? Is this the right path?

_Blink._

_Blink._

No time for regrets now. It was too late to turn back. He typed the last, agreement, expounding, his heart pounding, tears pooling at the edge of his old, tired eyes. He rested his head against his palms, silent heaves wracking his bent body.

_Blink._

_**Yes. **_

_Blink._

And again he typed, a last word, a last sin against the small boy upstairs, who knew no better, who he had led and manipulated to this outcome, whom he loved, but not enough. Not enough, he admitted to himself again. Never enough.

_**Midnight.**_

_Blink._

The blinking stopped, the green light dimming, fading to yellow then steadily glowing red.

* * *

In a forest deep in the heart of Albania, a dark spirit crouched in possession of a common adder. The snake hissed, rearing back to taste the air. Darkness, another part of a broken spirit, approached from the sky, swirling down into the clearing. For a second the two sized each other up, thoughts echoing forth and back, an endless repeating cycle, a mirror turned upon itself. The snake struck, passing through into the darkness, which curled forth and sunk into its skin.

A scream.

The snake began to smoke, fire burning it up from the inside, its scales rippling and melting from its bones. The darkness left with a hiss, bigger than before, swollen with another part of its soul.

Stronger now, _yes._ Need a bigger body, _yes. _Thoughts swirled around, half formed and fleeting. Combined, the darkness rose, seeking, plans beginning to form at a faster pace, looking for a victim to possess.

A distant fire, smoke curling into the night sky drew its attention.

_**Yes.**_

* * *

_To Be Continued: Harry's eleventh birthday and first contact with wizards!_

**Review please!  
**


	13. The Art Of Losing

_**Authors Note: Okay, I have written three different versions of this chapter, which is what took so long. *gasp*. I just couldn't decide. One version was almost 30k words, before I saw sense and decided to go for the snapshot approach, a quick and dirty, to the point, wham bam thank you mam! Which is still long… *sigh* Also, not sure why I can not delete the breaks in this poem. Got an editing issue going on here. Oh Well.  
**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

The art of losing isn't hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

* * *

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn't hard to master.

* * *

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

places, and names, and where it was you meant

to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

* * *

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or

next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn't hard to master.

* * *

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,

some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.

I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

* * *

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident

the art of losing's not too hard to master

though it may look like_ (Write it!) _like disaster.

* * *

-Elizabeth Bishop

* * *

Harry woke to hisses. The Quetzalcoatl was coiled on his bare chest, grumbling about the chill in the room. At Harry's movement, it reared up and turned to look into his face.

"_Awake? Awake, winged-master?"_

"_Yes. How long have I slept?"_

The snake tilted its head, the red-feathered crest deflating slightly in puzzlement. Harry's eyebrows drew together as he thought.

"_How many suns have risen and fell since greatest-light?"_

"_Ah! Four suns, Master, four times the sun has risen, and four times it has fallen."_

So it was going on the fifth day? He let loose a large sigh, before hissing at Dread to move over. The snake did so with another grumble, before curling up in the spot where Harry had been laying as he slowly sat up. He stood, stretching out stiff muscles, enjoying the feeling of his body responding strong and fast. The runes were active, then. He looked down at his chest, at the disaster made of the _Kruptos_ rune. In hindsight, it did not look that bad, it just wasn't what he had had planned. It was supposed to be a single word, meaning hidden or secret, placed in the center of his chest, to the right of _Ankh_. Instead, it was the same word repeated over and over in a circle around _Ankh_, and a perfect circle at that. Magic was definitely in control for that to happen!

He turned and glared at Dread as it peaked out from under the sheet it had burrowed itself under. Its green eyes stared into his own.

"_What did you do?"_

The serpent tried to play coy, its eyes darting away. Harry narrowed his own, frowning.

"_I said, what did you do?"_

Dread lowered its head to rest on the bed, its top feathers laid flat against its skin.

"_Master, only what you wished, of course. I did your bidding, I struck-the-softest-place, I made your secret safe."_

Harry frowned further, not appeased.

"_You took control from me. You molded my magic into a rune different than I had planned."_

"_I did what you wanted, though not what you willed, perhaps, great Master. I would not, can not, harm you. I made us better. We are the same, and as I am great, so you are as well."_

The snakes' arrogant air held true, and Harry resisted the urge to smile. Were all snakes like this? He shook his head as he replied.

"_You are indeed a great snake, but that rune, how do I know what it does? That it won't do something different, unexpected? It could have killed me!"_

"_Oh no, no, it works, it is powerful, I felt it, I tasted it. It will do what your magic wills, of course."_

"_As you do?"_

Harry shot back, disgruntled. The snake's head rose and dipped in a parody of a nod, unrepentant. Since when did the thing develop its own mind, anyway? Was it flesh and blood now? He sat with a groan, reaching a hand out to run over Dread's feathered back, its wings furled tight around its body.

"_Wish I could do that."_

He mumbled in a faint hiss, as the snake wiggled in delight. He guessed he forgave it, for whatever it had done. Just what it had done, he didn't know, and the thing insisted it was his own will that did it anyway. But what desire did he have to be some_ king-of-serpents_, anyway? He could care less for fame, or glory, both of which he appeared to have anyway. Now it looked like he was stuck with a weird arrogant magical snake-dagger-thing with a sorry sense of humor. Does it even eat anything?

At that thought, the door abruptly opened, Tiny stepping in without looking up, bearing a large tray of food. When he glanced up, he almost dropped the tray, before flinging it down on the bed and pulling Harry into a hug.

"You're okay! and awake! I bring food every day, but I usually just eat it myself, but you know, the smell of food and all, I figured, and, well, the snake eats too so I feed it some and Harry, you're awake!"

Tiny finished in a rush, excited and bouncing. Harry laughed, ruffling his hair as he returned the hug. It was nice to be welcomed with such affection.

"Calm down, I'm fine!"

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Tiny's countenance darkened, and the boy shoved him back on the bed with a growl.

"You were not! You should've seen yourself! I think Mike about had a heart attack, and the boy has barely talked since! And Kerr, he was so mad, and he had to clean you off, and now they say I'm going with them to London when you leave, and they want you to too..."

Harry broke in with surprise, eyes wide in confusion.

"What do you mean, you go to London? What are you talking about?"

Tiny took a gulp of air, before looking around cautiously. He stood up and closed the door, before coming back to sit next to Harry.

"They are mad, Harry. They blame Mr. Steel for talking you into this. They don't think I should stay with him."

"But he's been great to us!"

Tiny frowned at him.

"To us, perhaps, but you should've seen yourself! You were covered in blood!"

"It's _blood magic,_ it's supposed to be that way! This is normal, and it was my choice!"

"Tell that to them!"

"He just did."

Kerr spoke up from the doorway, Mike a second behind them. Apparently Tiny's attempt at subterfuge failed. Tiny flushed, before moving to lean against the wall, arms crossed.

Kerr turned to Harry, speaking quietly and earnestly.

"Come with us. I'm leaving now, soon. I've talked to Mr. Steel. He thinks its best, anyway, for us to leave. Knowing who you are and all, he doesn't think we are needed. He just thinks we will be in the way."

He spat that out, before continuing.

"We can help you hide, can take you far away. He doesn't have to know. You do not have to go to those wizards; you will never have to do one of those sick rituals again. Freedom, Harry. With us."

Harry just stared, shocked. He did not know what to think, how to feel. Finally he spoke.

"Kerr, Mike... Tiny. I want to go to the wizarding world. I want to learn to do magic. I love it. I want to help people, too. You all know what they are capable of. Why shouldn't the world know too? Not the bad things, maybe, but the good? How many people's lives can be saved with a potion? How many healed with a spell? Why should that remain a secret?"

"How many killed with a spell, Harry? How many sacrificed? It is not all butterflies and faeries!"

Mike burst out angrily. Harry shook his head again, frustrated.

"I know that! For heaven's sake, my parents were killed by a wizard!"

He groaned, running his hands over his face, before looking up at them again.

"This was my choice, because I can help, and I choose to help. I can find out just why the wizarding world is separate, and I can determine whether or not it should remain so. These rituals, this blood magic, it is illegal in their world too. I learned this, okay? They do not condone that stuff either. The reason I did so, was so that they would not learn of my intentions, and of you guys. I did it to protect you all too. And if I got a little stronger, a little smarter, a little more powerful along the way, well, that is all for the better. But I did it for you."

He felt tears gathering in his eyes, and for a moment they all simply sat, looking at one another. Suddenly Kerr moved forward abruptly, gathering Harry into a hug. Mike joined in a second later, patting him awkwardly on the back. Kerr spoke, his voice hoarse.

"Seeing you like that, Harry. It broke my heart. You understand? I never want to see you like that again. I want to protect you, am supposed to protect you. You are like my little brother. I do not want any of this for you."

Kerr stepped back, looking into Harry's eyes, before nodding firmly.

"But if this is your intention, if you are determined to do this, then I am behind you. I'll stay with you, do what I can from this side of things, okay? Alright?"

Harry nodded, throat tight. Kerr gave another brief hug before leaving, Tiny passing by and leaving after a glace between Harry and Mike. The other boy started forward, laying his hand on Harry's shoulder. Finally he spoke.

"Harry, I can not understand why you would put yourself through this. I want to call you a stupid, ignorant prat, and well, that's what you are. And that's why I like you so much, because you are a kind-hearted fool who needs all the friends he can get. If that makes me a fool too, well, so be it."

Harry smiled, and Mike slapped him on the back with a grin.

* * *

Three months before July 31st. Three months to train, to plan, to say goodbye.

In the mornings Harry did just that, spending time with each boy in turn, playing games in the clearing, having fun. Being a child again, if only for a short time.

The afternoons were dedicated to books with Mr. Steel. All resources were laid bare for Harry, and he made the most of them. He learned much faster now, retained much more. He would not consider himself a genius by any means, but he was no longer average. The mind and memory runes allowed him to breeze through difficult problems with ease, and he had reached the limit of their resources. It would be up to himself to find more material in the wizarding world to learn from.

At night he practiced his runes. He tested his tolerance to cold and heat, and found it almost limitless. It would not stop a burn from straight up fire, but it came close. Frost did not stick to his skin, and snow melted on contact. He was faster, his reflexes improved by leaps and bounds, literally. His flying was now a force to be reckoned with, and none of the boys could lay a finger, ball, or rock on him. He practiced and practiced retaining his wings and retracting and releasing them in turn, until it was second nature. He poured as much magic as he dared into _Heth,_ increasing its strength and size until it could cover his entire body, wings included. He had no way of testing it yet, but he was confident it could handle most obstacles.

_Zayin_ he approached with trepidation, never confidant, afraid of its power. He figured out that extreme emotion, of any kind, was needed to set it off. It was almost impossible to control, working and looking much like a lightning bolt. A rock would at the least be cracked, and at worst exploded into millions of pieces, all depending on how much Harry wanted it. It was a power Harry regretted having, and one he could not see himself using on another person.

The notice-me-not runes he tested on the boys, with mixed results. _Ikaros_ failed to work at all, he assumed because they already knew of his wings existence. He did not dare test it on the villagers nearby, and would just have to leave that to a later date. _Kruptos_ worked perfectly. None of them could quite look at any of the runes except Ankh, and even then it was a sort of hazy experience. The boys simply found themselves not wanting to look, not wanting to know. When forced to look closer, they would become clearer, but the boys would also get extremely aggravated and irritable.

All in all, a success.

Fourteen runes, two sets. He could not see himself partaking of another one in the near future. For one, he did not know enough of the wizarding world. Also, where would he go? If he could not return to Mr. Steel, how would he complete the ritual in safety, and in secret? He could not fathom it. Who would take care of him while he was at his weakest?

He shook his head as he slipped into bed that night. One more week. One more week, and he would be eleven. One more week, and his life would change again. One more week.

* * *

Mr. Steel was going to send the boys away. Despite their protests, the older man did not want them involved. He was sending them to London, to go ahead and reopen the store. After much thought, the older man was going to move himself as well, after Harry left. The boys were still not happy with Mr. Steel, but they had reached a peace of sorts. They all wanted to help Harry. Kerr and Mike insisted on Tiny going with them, and Kerr agreed to take over the responsibilities of schooling him. Mr. Steel and the magical artifacts were going to be relocated to a house in London unknown to any of the others. Harry memorized the address, wondering if he would ever have the opportunity to see it in person.

Tomorrow morning, July thirtieth, the boys would leave, to be joined by Mr. Steel on the first of August to help get things settled. They were not sure when the wizards would arrive, whether right at midnight of the 31st, or sometime during that day. To be safe, they would be prepared the whole time. If the wizards did not arrive, Harry would join them in London for a time, before he would return to the cottage with Mr. Steel. The space would be needed to exercise his wings.

He doubted they would get that lucky.

* * *

It was hard to say goodbye. Hugs were exchanged, terse and awkward words. Finally they drove off, waving until the last minute as they drove out of sight. Mr. Steel rested a hand on his shoulder, comforting. Harry remained silent.

The house felt like a different place without being full of the light and life of the others. It was silent, empty, lacking the feeling of home. Harry drifted from room to room, nervous and anxious. Mr. Steel finally summoned him to lunch, and he tried to eat, but it was hard. They exchanged small talk, eyes already on the clock. Harry finally said he was going for a walk, and stood and left the house, heading to his clearing for the last time. The night before he had flown over Cheddar, visiting the quarry from the skies, flying through the Gorge. He would miss this place.

The clearing especially was a part of him. He had completed two sets here, fourteen painful runes. His blood, his magic, was soaked in the very dirt. Always, this place would remain with him. No matter where life took him, this was, had been, at one point his home.

Dread was under his skin, wrapped in his magic. He wouldn't risk losing the serpent, his link to the runes. It was too much a part of himself, his magic, his soul. He wanted to cry, to scream, something dramatic to mark this day. He could only sigh.

By the time he returned to the house, the sun was setting. He sat quietly beside Mr. Steel in his office, heart beating fast, eyes on the clock.

At half till twelve, he went upstairs, peaking out the window of his dark bedroom, looking at the driveway. He would see who appeared, if anyone, and then join Mr. Steel downstairs.

Time seemed to slow down to a crawl, seconds ticking past a minute-long.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, waiting. The people assembled in the room shifted tersely, eyes roving to and fro, conversation starting and stopping erratically. They all knew what day it was; all knew what they were waiting for.

It had been a hard year. Not knowing whether the boy lived or died, was healthy, whole. Remus had near killed himself scouring London to no avail. Albus let his eyes rove over those assembled, picked for their dedication, their secrecy. Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Alastor Moody, Emmeline Vance, and Minerva McGonagall. Seven of them, altogether, counting himself. He had limited the number at that, not wanting to bring in too many.

They had formulated a plan, of sorts. They had no idea whether he was in a hostile environment or not, with wizards or Muggles. As such, upon arrival, they would be faced with several options. First, if the place was openly hostile, they would proceed together in force, to rescue Harry Potter at all costs. All of them were outfitted with a direct portkey to the Hogwarts infirmary, where Pomfrey was waiting and ready. If the place was uncertain, Kingsley, Alastair, and Emmeline would remain behind to secure a retreat and in case backup was needed, and Remus, Minerva, himself, and Severus would attempt to locate Harry and ascertain his condition. If it looked as if Harry was in a completely innocent location, like perhaps a Muggle house or orphanage, only Albus, Minerva, and Severus would proceed, in the capacity of Hogwarts Professors, to deliver the letter, while the others spread out in case they were needed.

With it being so late at night, they were somewhat worried about the impression that would make, but it could not be helped. They had no choice but to move quickly.

The time slowly ticked down, and by the time only half an hour was left all eyes were glued to the book, open on Albus' desk. The pen was poised in the air magically, waiting. Already names had filled the book, most if not all attendants already mailed their letters.

Ten minutes, five, one. Collective breath held, a great whoosh let out as the pen suddenly quivered, the clock striking twelve. It looped down, beginning to write a name and address, one that was not Harry Potter.

_Neville Longbottom._

A deep well of disappointment, Albus not letting himself give up hope yet. The pen rested a second, poised in the air, hovering. The clock said five minutes past. His heart began to pound, despair beginning to well up.

The pen moved.

Remus gasped, leaning forward, rubbing nervous palms down his pants. Snape recrossed his arms, the noise sounding loud in the quiet room.

The pen darted down, scratching across the page.

_Harry Potter._

At last! The boy was alive! _He was alive!_ Albus could have jumped for joy, if he could take his eyes off the page, glued to the address, before turning quickly to the others. Fawkes took them to the edge of the grounds, and they quickly gathered; the address clear in their minds. Cheddar, in Somerset. How on earth had the boy gotten there? With one last look at each other, they disappeared with the loud crack of apparition.

* * *

Harry held his breath, as the minutes ticked past midnight. Nothing. No owls, no letters suddenly appearing. Was he going to be free another year? He could feel a bit of hope mixed with disappointment rising. Five minutes past, ten. He began to lean back from the window, began to relax. Then he caught movement at the edge of the yard, and his heart began to pound at twice the rate. People. Dark shadows, moving at the edge of the yard. They conversed for a while, and he narrowed his eyes, trying to count the hooded shapes. Wizards, definitely, seven of them. _Seven!_ Three broke off, heading up the drive, while four stayed behind, spreading out. Surrounding the house?

Harry broke into a run, pounding down the stairs, running into the living room where Mr. Steel sat calmly. He panted, nervous, excited, scared.

"Seven! We are surrounded! And three, three of them are coming to the door! Right now!"

As if on cue, the doorbell chimed, innocently. Mr. Steel met his eyes, stood slowly. The doorbell chimed again.

"In a minute!"

His voice called cheerily, before the man pushed Harry onto the sofa.

"Calm down, relax. I will get the door. _Relax_. Remember. You know nothing. You do not know who you are, what you are. _No eye contact._ Relax."

Mr. Steel ordered one last time, before heading for the door slowly and calmly.

Harry shifted, his ears trained to the sound of the slow footsteps.

The door creaked open.

* * *

They appeared at the edge of a farmyard, surrounded by woodland. There was a two story cottage straight ahead, lights twinkling cheerfully from the porch stoop and a few windows. They were still awake, then. Good.

Albus turned to the others, words exchanged quickly. This seemed a Muggle dwelling, based on the automobile and the house. Perhaps Harry had been adopted out, after all. They still needed to be on their guard, however. Kingsley and Emmeline headed around to the back of the house, Remus and Alastair watching the front and the sky in case they tried to leave on brooms.

Severus, Minerva, and himself approached slowly, calmly. Albus felt his heart racing, his hands trembling. Could it be the boy was alright after all? All this time, hidden away in the Muggle world, out in the country after all? It seemed too good to be true. Yet, what would explain that accidental magic, the exploding of his devices? What had Harry went through for that kind of response?

He rang the doorbell, forced himself to wait a minute. He rang again, his wand itching in his hand.

"In a minute!"

An older voice called out, male. Albus exchanged glances with Minerva, forcing himself to relax. A minute later they heard slow footsteps coming close, and the latch being unlocked. He found himself leaning forward, eyes poised.

An older gentleman, with white hair and an elegant poise opened the door, eyebrows raised as he took in their attire.

"Can I help you, Sirs, Madam?"

The man shifted the tiniest bit, betraying nervousness. Probably wondering what they were doing on his doorstep so late at night. Albus tried to meet his eyes, but the man's glance was roving their clothes in fascination.

"Does a Mr. Harry Potter reside here, by chance?"

The man frowned, turning slightly to look behind him, before nodding, looking quickly between them.

"He does, may I ask why? It is not a normal hour for visiting."

At last! The boy had been found! It was all he could do to keep his face calm and polite.

"Ah, yes, well. We are from a special boarding school, which Mr. Potter's parents themselves went to. It was stated in their will for young Harry to attend, all expenses paid, of course. We are here to inform Mr. Potter of his status, and deliver his acceptance letter."

The man frowned further, wrinkles exaggerated around his eyes and mouth.

"And you are?"

Albus straightened, chagrined. He was more nervous than he had thought.

"I am Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts. This is Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape, professors at the school."

"I am Gerald Steel. It is nice to meet you."

The man smiled, before gesturing them inside warily.

"I'm surprised a headmaster himself would deliver an acceptance letter, let alone with two professors, and at this time of night. Is there some urgency in this matter? I have never heard of a school named Hogwarts, that name would stick with me, I think."

The man spoke as he took their cloaks and hung them up beside the door politely. Severus stood stiffly, uncertain, eyes darting around the obviously Muggle dwelling. Minerva kept her own counsel as well, letting Albus do the talking. She was more comfortable in Muggle dwellings, but it did stir up unwelcome memories of a time in her youth that she did not wish to remember.

Albus smiled in response, dodging the question, as the old man led them further into the house.

"Hogwarts is the very finest school of its kind, I assure you. As it resides in Scotland, I would not be surprised that you have not heard of it."

"Scotland, you say? Well, only the finest for my Harry!"

The man said jovially, ignoring the way the three stiffened. Albus's eyes tried to see through the man as they entered what was obviously the living room, a dark haired boy sitting on the sofa, facing a television that was playing the news. Slowly the head turned, green eyes meeting his own. Albus's mind darted forward, drifted, skimmed, came back out, and he nearly stumbled in confusion. _What in Merlin's name?_

* * *

Harry waited, listening to the words exchanged. The headmaster himself? He almost slapped himself at his surprise; he was after all a celebrity. Only the best would be offered him. His parents, though? Was that true? Did they have anything else of his parents? He found himself daydreaming and brought himself back to the present. So these were teachers, come to introduce him to the wizarding world?

Would he be free to stay, then, after all? No wizarding police, no angry politicians? He had been expecting something a bit more dramatic. He made himself relax, playing the confused boy. As the footsteps drew closer, he turned his head slightly, curiously, his eyes meeting twinkling blue orbs. At once a drifting sensation came over him, a vague feeling of fingers ghosting across his mind, and then it was gone as suddenly as it had happened, and his eyes cleared.

The blue eyes belonged to the older man, who looked twice as ancient as Mr. Steel, and yet more vital and energetic. Behind him a sallow dark-haired man frowned, looking as if Harry had already offended him with his mere presence. The rear was brought up by a stern auburn haired woman, the very picture of a stereotypical professor, hair in a tight bun and clothes perfectly straight. Besides their strange old-fashioned clothes and the bright colored robes on the Headmaster, they all looked distressingly normal.

"Hello, Mr. Potter. It is nice to meet you."

The older man spoke, eyes kind, voice excited. He then turned and pointed to each person with him in turn, introducing them.

"I am Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, and these are Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall. We are here to tell you something very important, perhaps unbelievable."

The man sat in the offered seat across from him, smiling jovially. He continued at Harry's open and curious expression.

"Have you ever done anything odd? Unexplainable?"

Harry watched them, surprised it was going to be this easy. He decided to just go along with it, keeping his eyes on the headmaster. He answered cautiously.

"Sometimes."

Mr. Steel shifted, before finally sitting down across from Harry, eyes focused on Harry where they were safe. The other two reluctantly sat as well, a bit ill at ease. What were they afraid of? The headmaster smiled, pleased at his answer, before continuing.

"I know why these things have happened to you, Mr. Potter. Perhaps a demonstration is in order?"

The man pulled out a long stick, and Harry's eyes eagerly devoured his first sight of a real wand. The man gave a swish and flick, and the table in front of them abruptly transformed into a dog, who barked and wagged its tail. Harry sat back in shock, mouth falling open. How easy the man had done it! Not even a word, it must be nonverbal magic! He must be so powerful! Where had he heard that name before? Dumbledore? He cast his mind back, thinking furiously. Then he raised incredulous eyes to the man as it clicked into place. The defeater of Grindelwald. The greatest light wizard of the current age, perhaps second to only Nicholas Flamel himself. Before him sat the most powerful wizard he could hope to meet, and he looked like someone's crazy grandfather! And he just turned a table into a dog!

Harry must have looked as shocked as he felt. The man smiled, taking a breath to speak, eyes dancing in enjoyment at his innocent expression.

"You are a wizard, Harry Potter."

Harry felt a sense of deja vu come over him, the words so similar to before, the situation so different. And it was then, as his world reeled, as he looked over at the other professors, as he met angry dark eyes, that _Mem_ flared to life.

* * *

Severus had been waiting for the opportune moment. The old man, Steel, had been religious about not meeting their eyes, setting off alarm bells in his mind. No one was that careful, not unless they had reason to suspect something. No, something was wrong, was off about this situation. Albus seemed to be playing along, maybe even taken in by it, but he knew better.

He was surprised by the look of Potter. The boy looked completely normal, if perhaps a little skinny. No, simply lean, he looked well fed enough. All around healthy, actually, with that dratted messy Potter hair. No glasses, at least, like his prat of a father. Nothing hiding those eyes, Lily's eyes. He waited, while the headmaster talked, played a fancy trick. And when those eyes turned and met his, incredulous, he struck.

He was a master at what he did. He had deceived the Dark Lord himself for years, had only been overcome by Albus Dumbledore himself. He knew the feel and taste of a mind, the mountains and valleys, the strongholds of memory and winds of thought. He could peel the layers back like an onion, could see whole images and people and places and words. He had never expected to be surprised again.

So when his mind touched Harry Potter, he was shocked for a moment longer than he could recover from, thrown off balance. He was in the midst of an ocean, a boat tossed to and fro, and he was being drawn under, drowning in sensation and thought, too fast, too hard. He flung himself out, saw shock bleeding to fury in those killing curse eyes, and immediately struck again, prepared this time.

He made himself a boat, tried to sail the current, was crushed. He turned into a fish, swam hard and fast, was flung free from the water, made himself water as well, tried to flow in and around, and the mind around him now was a river, twisting, roaring, cascading against his own, and for a second he could almost see something, a lightning bolt scar against pale skin.

The vision swam before his eyes, as he treaded against the violent current. He used every iota of his skill to clear it, to catch a glimpse into the mind and memory of his best friend's son.

_The old man stood before Harry, his shoulders slumped in defeat as he shook his head back and forth. Harry was staring him down, his eyes narrowed in anger. The man spoke, his voice trembling with emotion._

"_Harry, I only did what I thought best for the plan..."_

_As the man drifted off, his voice raspy, Harry spoke up softly with words that seemed to echo throughout the entire space._

"_Why couldn't you just love me?"_

And then he was slammed from above, claws dragging into his shoulders, a furious roar sounding in his ears, the sound of wings beating, pulling him out of the water, pulling him free, and he looked up and saw dark feathered wings, an angel from hell, and its body was in shadow, only a circular glowing symbol on its chest lighting the darkness.

Then he was out, in his own mind, gasping. Albus's hand was on his shoulder, steadying him, and he looked toward the boy in shock and fury. The boy was standing in front of Steel, hands spread out in defense, looking for all the world as if he was about to go to war. His eyes were wild, confused, surprised.

"Severus? _Severus?"_

Albus's voice brought him out of his reverie, and he looked up at him, shaking his head wordlessly. The man's eyes darkened in suspension, before they both turned back to face the pair. Severus laid his hand on his wand in his pocket, gripping it tight. To be thrown from a mind, anyone's mind, took amazing skill and force of will. What he had seen, felt, was impossible. A mind like that? How was the boy not mad? What on earth had happened to him? He was reminded of the shattered instrument in Albus's office, Harry's lost and confused question, and clenched his wand tighter, on edge.

He met bright blue eyes again, opening his mind in a split second, an infinite amount of conversation, a goal, a conviction. When he turned away, standing tall, he met the boys defiant eyes.

_Lily's son._

* * *

When it happened, it happened fast.

When the dark-haired man, Snape, had attacked his mind it had felt like a missile had been launched straight at him. _Mem_ had burned furiously, and he had grabbed his forehead in pain, hunching over for a second before jumping up. Snape had slumped, eyes rolling back in his head, and his two companions had jumped up in turn to support him, keeping him in his chair. A second after _Mem _had flared to life, Harry felt the mental presence changing, digging deeper, attempting to turn to water itself, to insinuate itself into his mind, and he desperately willed it out, gasping. The presence sunk talons into one slice of memory, trying to see, trying to anchor itself down, and he knew if he did not throw it out now, he never would... _Samekh _suddenly flared as well, a solid pain above his forehead that almost sent him to his knees. Then it was over, as suddenly as it began.

The man turned to the Headmaster, who seemed to be looking into the man's soul. Then Snape turned to face him, and Harry straightened his spine.

He was still not prepared.

* * *

He had been so arrogant, _so childish,_ to think that some ancient runes would protect him.

So very foolish.

* * *

Severus Snape was not the average wizard. He had been in a war, on both sides, and knew the game. When he went into action, it was not half-heartedly, it was not without expectation of resistance. He had no idea if this Steel was a wizard, how experienced he might me, if Harry was here under painful threat, and could be used as a hostage.

He went for the throat, for the heart, for the victory without failure.

"Expelliarmus!"

His standard opening, his eyes meeting the old man's startled gaze.

Albus whispered something intelligible, and Potter was pulled violently to the side towards the older man, before somehow breaking free with a painful gasp. He did not allow himself to look, focusing on the unknown threat.

"Stupefy!"

Almost lazily, with a swirl of the wand, having noticed no wand or weapon present on Steel. The man went limp, his eyes rolling back into his head. There was something like a crack as he hit the floor, and a whine sounded from behind him.

Snape turned, to see Harry somehow wrapped in what looked like a telephone cord, Albus frowning in sorrow. The boy struggled furiously, his mouth moving in silent shouts. He met Albus's eyes in a silent question.

Minerva spoke up from his side.

"What did you see, Severus? That boy practically turned into a wild animal!"

Albus spoke up, quieting Minerva with a wave.

"I was forced to bind and silence him. Severus, this man is no wizard. With everything I have seen here in this house, he is not even a squib."

"A Muggle?"

Albus nodded to Minerva's gasp, before looking down at the unconscious old man.

"It would be better if he forgot all of this and continued with his life. Harry belongs in the wizarding world, where he can be protected. There are no wards strong enough that could be put up here, in the care of a Muggle."

A shuffle caught their attention, as Harry was struggling with renewed vigor shaking his head violently back and forth. Albus frowned, and tried to kneel in front of the boy, who was convulsing on the floor in an attempt to get free.

"My dear boy, Severus could see the truth in your mind, what he could see of it. You did not like that man, did not like living with him. You may deny it, but your mind says otherwise. I hope you can tell us the full truth in time. This is for the best, for you, and for him as well."

Albus stood with a creak, before turning and nodding at Severus. He did not hesitate, but looking viciously at the Muggle and spoke one word with a precise drawl.

"_Obliviate."_

Behind him, a shout.

* * *

Harry stared in horror as a force jerked him to the side even as the tall wizard easily knocked Mr. Steel unconscious. It took perhaps all of ten seconds. He could not even fathom how fast this was happening. He had tried to swing a fist at the man, and found himself bound in a telephone cord of all things, his voice silenced magically. He spoke the names for his runes over and over, and the magic refused to work, and he found the fatal flaw in his flawless plan. He could not speak the activation rune.

He watched with eyes that refused to cry as Mr. Steel's fate was dryly discussed, as if he wasn't even human, and had no rights of his own. The old man tried to pander to him, tell him it was all for his own good, but he tuned him out, staring fervently at his mentors slack face. Memorizing every crease and wrinkle.

The dark haired man _smirked_, lifting his wand, and Harry hated him then with a hate that he could not control, a dark twisted thing. He closed his eyes as the word echoed throughout the space, going limp in the bonds, seeking deep within himself, seeking a solution.

The snake stirred inside him, whispered in his mind as its feathered wings absently beat with the time of his heart.

_Oh._

* * *

Minerva let out a shout as the Potter boy went limp, and she hurried over to him. Dumbledore kneeled as well, before lifting his wand and silently casting a diagnostic spell.

He frowned as the results, before looking up at the other two professors.

"He is not awake, and yet, not unconscious either. The stress must be too much for him. It would be best if we took him to Pomfrey. We will send someone back to take care of things here."

Severus nodded reluctantly, casting another look around before reaching out and activating his Portkey in time with the others.

* * *

Brilliant light flooded his magical self, even as a hook sank deep inside his magic, propelling him forth from the cabin and into the night, spinning past stars, spinning, spinning, spinning.

He wanted to shout, to scream, to cry.

Then they were there, hitting the stone floor with a splash of light. Harry opened his eyes, looking blearily up as a older woman rushed to them, her very magic screaming healer. He did not move as she scolded the Headmaster, forcing them to move back. He stared blankly, refusing to move a single muscle, to speak, to acknowledge.

He felt the silencing magic lift from him in another swirl of light, his bonds vanishing with another splash of luminescence.

So this was what Magic was, something like fireworks, bursts of light, here a second, then gone.

He waited patiently, Dread hissing in his mind, repeating his name, _giving-great-fear-in-troubled-times_, over and over, an order, a command.

He readied himself, and sent a quick look over the room, even as he sucked in a breath and let out a moan, testing the silence, breaking it. The woman smiled at him like a proud mother, and he smiled back, viciously. She flinched, and as soon as her wand flicked away for the briefest second, he contorted his body, using all his agility and strength to launch himself almost supernaturally far off the bed, bounding to his feet and spinning to face the wizards. They lifted their wands, light gathering to be launched, but he was ready this time.

"_Heth."_

He whispered it like a prayer, and felt the shield of light spring forth even as the wizards cast their spells, each one slightly different, their intent spoken in light and speed. They splashed against his shield, merged, spread out like liquid, if nothing else resembling paint splattered against a wall. He grinned at their shocked looks, gathering himself up, remembering Mr. Steels limp body.

He would not let them get away with that. He gathered his magic, felt _Ankh_ flaring to life as he drew a deep breath. It would be quick, the lightning strike, and indiscriminate in its fury. He felt a little sorry for the women, knowing they had done nothing.

Or perhaps doing nothing was the greater crime.

"_Zayi..!"_

He choked off as pain flared into life on his chest, Dread's whisper turning into a scream. _Ankh_ was on fire, and he fell to his knees with a grunt, grabbing at the rune in panic and fear. Fire sprang forth in the room, whipping out then centering in on the shoulder of the older man who had somehow escaped the bloody revenge Harry had been prepared to take. The fire coalesced into the figure of a regal bird, scarlet and gold, but Harry saw more.

The light was the brightest he had seen since his ritual with the moon, and it screamed of the sun. It brought to mind the hottest days, the sun at noon-time, desert sands and high mountain peaks. An eternity of flight and magic and song, all wrapped into a mortal body that would perish, and perish, and perish again, only to be reborn in a day and grow again, ash and fire.

The bird sang out a high note, and _Ankh_ again flared, but this time not with pain but pleasant warmth. A brother meeting a brother, and it spoke saying_ we-are-one-and-the-same_, and _well-met,_ and _you-are-as-we-were._ Harry met the dark eyes with awe, observing the scarlet plumage on the birds head, the golden tipped crest. Its song was its greatest magic, perhaps, a light that hung in the air like musical notes, a spell that would only fade but never be gone.

_Ankh. _ This bird was that rune in all its potential, wrapped in a feathered body, with a mind of its own. And it would not let him hurt what it considered his. He dropped his head in defeat, and the old man spoke calmly with words he would not let himself understand.

* * *

Harry sat on the bed numbly as the mediwizard ran scan after scan. He simply stared at the floor, ignoring the heated discussion going on around him. The man, Snape, made snide comments and demands for answers. Minerva wanted to know about his shield. The headmaster just seemed to want to leave him alone. The bird, what he now knew was a phoenix, sat on his bed, its long tail feathers draped over the edge of the bed, beady eyes focused on him. He absently reached out a finger, running it down the brilliant plumage on its chest, watching with awe as flickers of light sparked and fluttered around his skin. It was beautiful.

More words were directed his way, but he tuned them out neatly. He had no wish yet to speak to his captors.

* * *

Severus faced Albus down a few beds away from the boy. Pomfrey was muttering spell after spell in the background, trying to get some idea of Harry's general health.

Severus spoke forcefully, not understanding why the Headmaster was being so difficult.

"Let me get this straight. You are not going to do anything to find out what that spell he was, obviously, _intentionally_ using to block our spells. You are not going to try and find out how he even knows spells, let alone is not the least bit surprised at our use _of_ spells, which means he must have had _some_ sort of contact with wizards. That boy is hiding something, Albus! _Why_..."

"_Severus._"

Albus interrupted him gently. His blue eyes sparkled a bit behind his glasses.

"I think you are not seeing the bigger picture. You are blinded by your emotions. _The boy is alive_. Is this not what we have hoped for? And not only alive, but I believe healthy. It is obvious, that is true, that he has had some sort of contact with our kind. It would also help explain what happened to my instruments. However, whatever it was, it must have been traumatic. I will not force him to recount his past at this time, to what he thinks of as strangers. Especially when he is not viewing us in a positive light, with the unfortunate necessity of Mr. Steel. I truly think we should leave him be, let him get used to the idea of attending school here, make some friends. Perhaps in time he will come to us on his own, when he is older, to tell us the whole truth. I want him to be able to trust us. Not to mention, Fawkes likes him."

Severus scowled at that last, his arms folded against his chest. He shot back sarcastically.

"Yeah, after he somehow defended us from _who-knows-what_ spell that _idiotic_ boy was going to cast, which I _as well as you_ know he only would have done if the threat was great enough to cause _death_!"

The twinkle left the headmaster's eyes as he let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumped. Severus should have felt vindicated, but the same mood seemed to sweep him up. All of their hard work, and they finally had the boy, and there were only more questions without answers. Not to mention the little brat had an attitude like his moron of a father. At that last thought, he turned to Albus again, speaking again harshly.

"Let me use Veritaserum. No protection on of his mind could stop us from hearing the truth then. Finally we will know what we are dealing with here, and how to truly help the boy."

A voice broke in from behind him.

"Severus Snape! You should be ashamed, treating this poor boy like he is some criminal. You as well as I know that Veritaserum is not safe on a body so young, yet to reach puberty. So just shove your suspicions somewhere else!"

Pomfrey was scowling at him, her eyes glaring. He felt like a little boy again, caught with burnt eyebrows after misfiring a spell. He found himself looking down guiltily, and grumbled to himself. Pomfrey turned back to Albus, her stance firm.

"I've finished looking him over. He looks to be in the peak of health, quite frankly. Perhaps some recent stress on his mind and magic, but if what I saw earlier was any indication, that might not be too abnormal. His magic is a little strange, but I can not quite put my finger on it. I believe it is linked to his scar, but when I try to look closer I find myself distracted. Another healer might not catch it, but I had some experience in the war with fidelius charms. He is hiding something, most definitely, but the headmaster is correct. We will earn his trust, and in time, he will tell us of the matter."

She nodded again firmly, before gesturing them over to the boy. Severus scowled, crossing his arms and shifting his feet. He would not be satisfied until he had real answers.

* * *

When the voices stopped, Harry looked up from the phoenix reluctantly. The headmaster was walking over slowly, as if afraid he might bolt. Harry forced himself to dredge up a half-hearted smile, finally remembering his mission and promise. He was supposed to enter the wizarding world, learn something about it. Not become a criminal by attacking authority figures! He had just been so angry, so hurt, so surprised. Dread had not helped either, egging him on. He would need to get that snake out of his core as soon as possible. It could not be completely trusted.

Headmaster Dumbledore sat on the bed across from him, and he was glad to see the other dark-haired professor hang back a ways. He did not like the gruff man a single bit for erasing Mr. Steel's memories, and his aggressive attitude. Someone needed to bring him down a few pegs. He looked back over to the headmaster when the older man began to speak.

"I see you and Fawkes are making friends."

"Fawkes, sir? Is that his name?"

Harry asked tentatively, unsure how to proceed. Was the man going to question him on his actions? Punish him? He looked up as the man continued.

"Indeed it is. Fawkes is a phoenix, capable of healing with his tears, carrying heavy loads, and even teleporting through fire, as you witnessed earlier. They are extremely loyal, phoenixes, and very rare. They are the greatest creature of the light."

Light. Harry hated wizards with their fancy color orientations that they forced on magic. The moon was light, and yet darkness was a fundamental part of it. It made no sense. Light and darkness definitely did not coincide with Good and Evil. What did the headmaster mean, then? That perhaps phoenixes represented the sun, which was the ultimate aspect of light, and which he could agree on completely? Or did he mean goodness, purity? No. He spoke softly, still unsure of his place here.

"I think maybe you mean unicorns. They would be the greatest creatures of the Light."

The headmaster's eyes twinkled in joy, as he smiled.

"Why would you say that, my boy?"

Harry thought for a second, tilting his head to the side as his fingers absently touched Fawkes's long tail feather.

"Unicorns are not capable of destruction in any form. Even when attacked, they would flee rather than fight. The only time they would ever attempt to harm would be in defensive of their young, and that is considered the purest and most innocent of actions. Phoenixes, on the other hand, will actively fight in both defense and offense, if the cause is just. They are capable of wielding their flames in destructive ways, they eat live prey, and they are, well..."

Harry reached out again to Fawkes, watching its magic leap forth and back and forward again, so much like _Ankh._ The sun, who he always thought of as a father, stern and caring and strong, was symbolized in every iota of the creature.

He turned back to the headmaster.

"They are creatures of the sun, which is strong and sometimes overbearing, capable of burning in its disregard. Life-giving, but life-taking. Not always gentle, not always kind. It will tell the truth, but also wield it as a weapon, capable of great destruction. Some even say that someday the world will perish because of the sun, when it grows old and tired of us, expanding and eventually exploding and mutating into something new and grand."

The headmaster leaned back, surprise on his features. For a second it seemed he might be speechless, before he leaned forwards again, steepleing his hands together. He got right to the point.

"Mr. Potter. Harry... Do you know what will happen from here, at this school? what is in store for you?"

He fidgeted a little, before finally deciding to go with a negative.

"No, not really, sir."

The white bearded man spoke softly.

"This school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, is now your magical guardian, as pertains to your parents will. With all other options unfit, you were to be raised at the school, to eventually attend in your eleventh year. As that is now upon us, you will be given rooms here in the school for summers. During the school year, you will reside in one of four dormitories with your peers. If you wish to see your parents will, you may do so at Gringotts bank, in Diagon Alley, where you will also purchase your school supplies. You also have a family vault that you may visit if you wish. We want you to feel welcome here, Harry. This is not a prison. You will be free to explore the school and grounds, though the Forbidden Forest is off limits to underage wizards due to dangerous creatures within. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded slowly, trying to smile and failing. It was too much, suddenly, to take in. That everything was going to be fine, was even going according to plan. Except that Mr. Steel may no longer remember that there is a plan.

At that thought, his shoulders slumped a little. The healer saw this, and interceded quietly.

"It's far past time for us all to be in our bed, Headmaster, I must insist you leave more questions until a later time. Mr. Potter needs his rest!"

Pomfrey spoke up. Harry could have kissed the woman as she ushered the others from the room. Dumbledore turned back at the door, meeting his eyes once more earnestly.

"Come up to my office tomorrow, Mr. Potter, when you wake. We will talk some more, and I will show you your rooms. I will arrange a tour for you also, if you wish."

Harry nodded, and watched as the older man left, his bright blue robes vanishing out of sight. He was left to his own privacy to change and did so quickly, before falling back into the hospital bed. For an infirmary, it was quite comfortable.

Fawkes trilled a gentle song from where he had settled on the post of his bed. Harry found his eyes drooping, and knew exactly what the manipulative bird was up to. He couldn't bring himself to be mad about it.

He barely closed his eyes before he drifted off into a deep sleep.

* * *

Poppy Pomfrey always thought of every child that passed through her care as her own children. She rarely questioned their injuries, and even rarer still would she act upon their origin. When her first standard diagnostic spells failed, worry had wormed its way into her heart. When it took a class one spell, one most Mediwizards could not even perform, to see into his body, she had been even more suspicious. Then the scan had told her exactly what she expected. Which was even more odd, for always was there something different, un-looked for. She had expected a cloaking spell immediately, and while the boy absently stroked the phoenix she had cast a few more spells, which returned the results she had feared.

The boy was being shielded in some way she could not fathom. A spell cast on him would still do its job, and she suspected that any jinx or curse would still take effect. However, her diagnostic spells simply refused to give her information on his magical core. His magic itself screamed normal, average, basic. 'Nothing Special' was practically carved into its face. Which was wrong, and she knew it. Because if anyone was special, it was this boy.

She had no way of screening it, of seeing its true size or status. His magic was sealed from her in every way. It was like nothing she had ever seen before. There were many maladies and treatments that would rely on the healer knowing such things, and she was worried about healing future injuries. The boy would have to learn to trust her, to let her see, if she was to be able to help him, for she could only assume this was the boys own doing. But why hide his magic? What purpose could there be?

She would not bring her fears to the Headmaster yet. Hopefully the boy stayed out of trouble long enough for her to gain his trust.

* * *

Fawkes was gone when he woke up on the morning. He was a bit disappointed, but shrugged it off. The bird surely had more important things to be doing than sitting on his bed all night.

Harry ate breakfast in the infirmary, provided by a funny looking creature called a House Elf. It had popped in, put the tray down, and popped out without so much as a name or a greeting. Luckily Pomfrey was there to inform the incredulous boy about House Elves in general, and the ones at Hogwarts in particular.

"Bound to the school, these are, instead of a singular human master. they live to serve, it is all they desire, and when prevented from doing so can get quite violent; towards themselves, of course."

"Of course." Harry had parroted dumbly, shocked. House elves! Amazing! He couldn't wait to tell Tiny, the boy would get such a kick out of them. At that thought sadness came over him. He wouldn't be seeing the boy again for a while. He didn't even know how he was going to even get a message to them. Pomfrey returned from his office to escort Harry to the Headmasters office. The woman was friendly, if stern, and Harry found himself liking her more than any of the other wizards he had met so far. This one seemed determined to help people. Perhaps it was a Healer thing.

Madam Pomfrey spoke the password, before leaving him with a firm pat on the shoulder.

"Just you come to me if you ever need anything, Mr. Potter. Or if you wish to speak about... well, anything." The woman ended with slight stutter, before turning and marching back down the hallway. Harry took a deep breath, and then ascended the stairs.

The office was huge, a large round space cluttered with various knick-knacks, and the walls covered in row upon row of books. It was room Mr. Steel could have vanished into for days, no, months! Harry found his incredulous eyes roaming around, before they snagged on a elegant golden perch resting in the corner. This had to be where Fawkes would perch when he was in the office. The headmaster must truly love his phoenix. The bird would accept nothing less than devotion, he thought sarcastically, remembering the burning feel of its magic. It was a royal creature, and knew it.

As if summoned by his thought, the brilliant colored bird swept in, trailing loops and swirls of magic that sparkled and fizzed in its wake. It swept into a neat perch that he envied, before sweeping its wings behind it and fixing him with a smug stare. As if on cue, his chest began to heat slightly, just shy of pain. An acknowledgement of power.

Dread twisted inside him, and would have howled if it had had the voice to do so. It was the opposite of this feathered thing, darkness where it was light, the low hiss where it was the loud song. He found himself smiling, and he reached out a hand to run over the top of the golden plumage scattered throughout the bird's breast, and it crooned with pleasure. His shoulder ached with the desire to spread his wings, to fly high and far with the beautiful magic inside this creature, his brother somehow in magic, in purpose.

The bird hopped forward, its wings giving the barest flutter, to land on his shoulder. He admired its skill, and almost crooned himself as the bird ran its beak through his messy hair, even as its magic flared out like the brightest sun. Suddenly he remembered, remembered the magic of the sun, how it had beat down on him during his last ritual, judging, commanding. It would not be ignored, would require its own sacrifice. It was jealous of its sister, the moon, and the offerings he had given her. It wanted its own. The bird let loose a song, and he could almost understand the words, could see the pictures dancing on the air, a tangible heartbeat in his mind, shining light. Magic desired balance, was much like a pendulum, swinging, swinging, back and forth and back again, dark to light to dark again. This bird was a child of the sun, a being made up of light in every quill and claw, and he wanted to bask in its glow. The song rose into a crescendo, and Harry could almost see the dark reaches of space, set alight by millions of suns shining into the dark, an eternal battle on a scale he could never hope to compete on, magic the thing that spiraled forth in whirls and waves to turn the worlds.

"There you are my boy!"

The cheery voice behind him startled him so badly he nearly fell, and the bird was forced to take flight before he dumped it to the floor. It began to squawk at the aged Headmaster in high pitched tones not at all like the beautiful song before. He found himself laughing without meaning to, the cheer summoned by the bird hard to overcome. The man smiled as well, pointing out a chair in front of the desk he himself sat at. Harry gladly took it, looking over at Fawkes who had resumed his spot on his perch, pointedly ignoring them now. He found himself smiling again, and tried to wipe it from his face, with little success. It was impossible not to be happy after hearing such a song.

The headmaster leaned forward with a smile, beginning to speak.

"Well, let's jump right into things. First, let me tell you some things about the school. Hogwarts has four Houses, groups of students of each year that go through their life here in Hogwarts together. They are based off of our four founding wizards, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw. They each have characteristics that represent them, in the purpose of sorting like-minded individuals and temperaments. My concern, is the sorting method. Normally a sentient magical device would read your thoughts to place you. Of course, I fear that would not be possible in your case."

Harry's eyes widened, even as he automatically shook his head no, before cursing himself. He had given away that he knew that his mind was protected, though the older man had probably already suspected as much. It would figure that a mind-reading device would be used. Did they make sure students had no dangerous intentions? Secrets? Future Blackmail against parents are the students themselves? Such a tool could be dangerous, and also an indispensable political tool of the school.

And his mind could not be read.

"Sir, is there not some other way?"

The man regarded him over the top of his half-moon glasses, his expression serious. Then he merely shook his head negative as he stood and crossed to a nearby shelf. He took down a weathered and battered hat, which he placed on the table in front of him.

"There is no other way, I am afraid, my boy. this here is the Sorting Hat. I wish to test the theory, if you are willing. Normally this is done in front of the school, but it we get the results I suspect, I doubt you will want such questions raised. Never fear, anything it does see is confidential, and it is unable to tell anyone else what it may or may not find."

He picked up a rumpled old hat, made up of tough brown leather. It certainly did not look like anything special.

Well, there goes the blackmail theory. He sighed, then nodded affirmative, before biting his lip nervously. Finally he reached forward and picked the hat up, before plopping it on his head. He waiting a few seconds, then minutes, wondering. Finally he lifted it up slightly, looking towards the other man.

"Well? Did it, well, sort me yet? What does it do, exactly?"

The man sighed and frowned, his shoulders slumping.

"It is as I suspect, then. You would've known already, had it been working correctly. I'm sorry, Mr. Potter. We will need to come up with an alternative method. How much do you know of the houses? Anything?"

Harry shook his head, playing with the loose threads in his shirt. He hated disappointing people, even ones who were as good as strangers. The older man sighed again, before returning the hat to its shelf. He then returned, sitting silently, before offering a small yellow candy to him. Harry made himself decline, wary.

"Lemon Drop? No? Well. I suppose I will tell you the various aspects. Hufflepuff's symbol is the badger, and it is for the loyal and the hardworking. Gryffindor is represented by the lion, and is for the brave and courageous. Incidentally, this was also your parents house. Ravenclaw's symbol is the Raven, Yes I know, pretty obvious on that one. They are for the intellectuals, those who love to read and learn. The last house is Slytherin, represented by a snake, and is for those who are cunning, and seek power."

Harry almost jerked at the last one, and was immediately drawn to it. He liked snakes, could understand them. It would not be bad to be in a house represented by such creatures. They were definitely cunning though, he thought, thinking of Dread and the last trick it had pulled. did he want to be surrounded by people known for their cunning? Would they not be more likely to figure out his secret? He frowned in thought.

Ravenclaw would probably help advance his goals. He would need to do a lot of reading and studying to solve the mystery of the wizarding world. But he was also loyal and hardworking when it came to his goals.

And Gryffindor was the house of his parents, who he earnestly desired to learn more about.

He finally looked up at the Headmaster helplessly.

"I do not know, sir. They all seem to be good places to go, and I'm sure I would fit in in any of them."

the man seemed surprised.

"You would, would you? any stick out in particular?"

Harry frowned, trying to think, weighing his words carefully.

"Well, Gryffindor was my parent's house. It would be nice to have more in common with them. But i also love to read and study. "

The man thought, his head tilted to the side, before smiling.

"I am giving you something that not many students get, a _choice_. Think hard on it, and tell me tonight what you wish, after supper. Meals are served in the Great Hall, though many professors chose to eat privately during the summer months. Now, I believe I promised you a tour? Yes?"

Harry nodded slowly, contemplating. Finally, he raised his eyes to the Headmaster, and decided to test his boundaries.

"Sir, would it be okay if I just... explored on my own? I kind of want to make my own first impressions."

The older man frowned a little, tilting his head to the side slightly.

"There are many dangerous places that lurk in unforeseen places. I would hate for you to get lost."

Harry bit his lip, thinking hard. The man seemed to see the direction of his thoughts and spoke again.

"I really would not feel well with you wandering about on your own at this point, Harry. At least let someone show you the highlights before dinner, give you some tips. Then perhaps after lunch you may explore."

Harry nodded, smiling internally. So they wanted him safe, but also wanted to give him enough rope on his leash to make him think he was free to do what he wanted. The headmaster spoke again.

"Professor McGonagall, who you met last night, has agreed to give you a tour in about, well, any minute now!

Harry nodded again, internally smiling that the other male professor, Snape, wouldn't be the one. But then again, that man wouldn't volunteer for anything short of torture, he imagined.

As an awkward silence began to develop, there was a sharp rap at the door and in swept the stern older woman from the previous night.

* * *

The tour was, simply put, amazing. The Wizarding School seemed to stretch forth forever, twisting and turning, up and down. Veins of magic gave the walls an eerie luminescence, and if nothing made Harry feel like he was walking through the body of a giant stone creature. The stairs definitely were sentient at least, moving on their own desires. He did see that the professor uncurled a small swirl of light to the one they were in, he guessed with the desire to request it ascend to a certain level in particular. That would be a handy trick to remember.

They passed various classrooms, gathering halls, and empty corridors. The professor made a note of several dormitories locations down certain hallways, though she stressed that they were protected by passwords.

"There would be no intermingling at bedtime!"

Finally they reached what he had been looking forward to since he first learned of entering a wizarding school.

The Library.

It was on the thrid floor of the large castle, though portions of it stretched up into the forth floor. Tens of thousands of books covered every wall, and he almost lost himself in awe. He could spend days, no, months in here! Everything he ever wanted to know! He began to walk forward, his eyes soaking up the book titles, before a hand on his arms stopped him. Professor McGonagall was giving him a laughing look.

"It seems we might have a future Ravenclaw on our hands. You can look through here later, if you wish. For now, we continue the tour."

He reluctantly turned away and followed her out with a sigh. He would most definitely be back.

They wound around a few more classrooms as the professor pointed out the names of a few more towers. Finally they headed back downwards again, and on the way out the entrance to the dungeon area of the castle was mentioned to him.

"...and there is the entrance to the dungeons, where potions is taught by Professor Snape, who you already met. Not much else down there, except the caretakers quarters and of course Slytherin Dormitories, also headed by Professor Snape..."

Well, that sealed that. He was most definitely not going to Slytherin! Dread hissed inside him with longing, but he merely rolled his eyes and followed the Professor outside. If he went there, he just knew he would be forced to feed the sallow professor to his snake!

The tour was completed with a walk to the Quidditch Pitch, which totally amazed him, and a walk downhill to the gamekeepers cabin, where a gigantic burly man was chopping wood outside.

Why wasn't he using magic?

Professor Mcgonagall greeted him as Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Caretaker of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He tried not to laugh at the pompous title that did not suit the man at all. Instead, he focused on not being taken to the ground by his humongous dog.

Hagrid was huge, dressed in rough fabric, looking if nothing like a woodcutter from a red riding hood tale. His dog was equally large for his breed. Perhaps magic was involved?

McGonagall left him there, being told tells of magical creatures by Hagrid, with the promise for him to be escorted to the Great Hall for lunch.

* * *

After eating lunch with perhaps half of the professors and staff at Hogwarts, Harry was escorted to his room. It rested behind a portrait on the third floor, not too far from the Library he was thrilled to notice. The portrait was of a country landscape late at night, a full moon glowing in the sky and a soft breeze blowing through the trees. It reminded him so much of the cabin. McGonagall gently broke his reverie.

"Now, Mr. Potter, these are your room for the summer. The password to enter is _'arvum_'."

"_Arvum_?"

He questioned, as the door swung upon silently and they stepped through. The room was a nice size, with a bed and desk and a small bookcase. An adjoining room led to a small bathroom with a standup shower and full length mirror. He turned to face the professor, who was standing by the door.

The woman smiled at him, her face kind.

"_Arvum_ is Latin for field, or country. In specific, a piece of land that is good for growing plants such as grain. I would suggest you buy a book on the basics of latin, as many spells and animals of the wizarding world are based off the ancient language."

Harry nodded silently, seeing no need to mention that he already had some basics in ancient languages. Her advice was good, and he would take it, as he already had an idea that the wizarding world in Britain in particular depended on Latin. McGonagall spoke again, as she shifted from side to side a bit, her eyes leaving his to move about the room.

"Now, this will be your summer room. Once you are properly sorted, you will have a dormitory during the school year with your peers. There will be no special privileges. You will be expected to be in your dormitory after curfew. However, you can visit these rooms whenever you wish, whether to study or do homework or simply relax. Any questions?"

Harry shook his head silently, and with a last farewell and a reminder about the time of dinner, the woman left him.

He sat back with a sigh, afraid to relax. He was truly alone for the first time since he had been brought here, and he was still overwhelmed. What was he doing here? Was he acting too calm, was he what they expected?

Obviously not, he thought, as he remembered the Headmasters reactions in the infirmary the night before. But they also obviously planned to leave him alone, for a time. He laid his head on his hands as he searched his mind. Finally, he stood and concentrated on his magic, releasing Dread from his body. the serpent uncoiled and stared up into his face, its scarlet crest fluttering in anxiety.

"_Are we free from predators, master?"_

"_Perhaps from predators of the flesh."_

He replied with a sarcastic hiss, before laying the serpent to coil on his bed.

"_Hide yourself from all others."_

He was tempted to keep the snake with him at all times, but he also did not trust its influence. Already his mind felt clearer, his emotions more in control, less angry and afraid. He took another deep breath, preparing himself to once more venture out into the school. He had a few hours before dinner, and he planned to make the most of them. It was time to learn more about these houses of Hogwarts.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat wearily at his desk, feeling the weight of his years. He could not stop thinking of the young boy, and of the circumstances they had found him in. They had no way of knowing what caused his instruments malfunction, nor how he had come to be with the Muggle. He had sent Remus and Snape back this morning to see what could be found, only for them to find the place a smoking ruin. What could have caused the fire they did not know, nor what had happened to the older man. An accident perhaps? Was he dead?

Their only lead had managed to escape by a means that magic could not solve. Fire would cover any magical traces that might have been found, and would negate tracking spells. He had not yet decided to inform Harry of what was found, not wanting to further upset the young boy.

His mind always led him back to Fawkes, however. The phoenix had been acting strangly ever since the night before. It had not left the boys side until early in the morning, only to disappear moments after he had left. His eyes traced the empty golden perch, resting finally in the ashes that graced its bottom tray.

Phoenixes, a creature of pure magic. Young Harry had been right in some ways, about the nature of Light and Dark magic. Fawkes was indeed capable of great destruction, should he wish to do so. However, phoenixes were much more a creature of healing and defense than of dark desires. They were considered Light because of this. Only once before had the phoenix been forced to defend the Headmaster with its life, bursting into flame and ash while blocking the lethal Killing Curse.

That Fawkes had considered such necessary when whatever Harry had been about to do was telling. The boy must have truly intended to kill them, or at the very least seriously harm them. What would drive an eleven year old to such measures? And where had he learned such a spell, and why? He had seen in his own mind what Severus had felt, that the boy held no love for the man they had Obliviated. There had to be something more.

Somehow, Fawkes had stopped the boy from casting his next spell with his song. Why it would cause pain he did not know, for the boy was obviously not a dark creature. And yet, the song had been one he had never heard before, full of harsh tones and sharp pauses. The boy had stood there, eyes wild, hand held out facing them as his voice had begun to shout something, some word he had not quite caught.

The opposite hand than the one he had held out when casting some unknown shield, that had held up before admittedly weak versions of the incarceration spell. Still, he had not seemed taxed at blocking them. And the way he had jumped away from them! An almost inhuman arch, amazing strength and agility and speed. Did he possess magical jewelry of some sort? A disguised ring of protection, perhaps? A necklace promoting increased reflexes?

His questions were endless with no answers, but he slowly began to put together a picture. It was impossible to tell the truth at this point.

Still. He had the next seven years to fill in the blanks.

* * *

After dinner, as Harry ascended the staircase to the Headmasters office, he heard raised voices within.

It was Snape, ranting, his voice angry and sharp.

"I can not find him, Headmaster! Where that old man went, we can not tell. There are no signs of magical transportation, we can find no trace of an accomplice. Its like he vanished off the face of the earth!"

Harry stood in the doorway, the dark haired man's robed back facing him. The Headmaster turned weary eyes to him, and the man spun around, his lip curled.

"Spying, Potter? Already showing your skulking ways?"

He did not reply to the vitriol, instead keeping his eyes locked on tired blue eyes behind golden spectacles.

"You will not find them. They are already gone."

His voice came out quite, matter of fact. He did not allow himself to regret his impulse to speak, to consider what he might of given away. Instead he turned and went back down the stairs, his mind in something like turmoil.

So they were searching for his family, and Mr. Steel had managed to escape. Did the man remember anything? Remember him? Had he planned somehow for this constituency?

The questions haunted his steps, and he forgot his whole purpose for going to see the Headmaster.

* * *

Albus would have groaned aloud, if he had had the capacity for drama. Instead he focused his eyes on the pale face in front of him, meeting dark eyes and allowing the thought to flow seamlessly between them, a quick mental conversation that needed no explanation.

_They._

* * *

Harry had finally found the tallest tower. Sneaking out of his room, wandering ever higher and higher, his path lit by the spidery veins of magic that flowed throughout the castle walls. He had ascended every stair, always looking, seeking. He wanted to feel the night air up high in the sky.

The Professor had called it the Astronomy Tower, where such classes would be held in his future. He found its entrance near the Library, which he had spent the majority of his time in that afternoon. He would spend more there tomorrow. For now, he took deep breathes of the crisp air, gazing at the stars in wonder. It felt so nice to be this close to the bright lights, different than the ones he was used to, and yet still the same.

With another deep breath, he found his magic and released it. He felt immediately as if a heavy burden had been taken off his shoulders. His runes lit up from within in his sight, and he could see his own magic swirl and flux. His shoulders burned and with a last glance around he let his wings loose from their binds. The wind immediately caught and tugged at him, pulling him toward the edge, and he was forced to furl them in tight around his body.

He experienced an urge so keen to fly that he despaired. Tears gathered in his eyes, and he wanted to scream his sadness and rage and fear to the sky, wanted to fly away from here, far away from responsibility and authority. He wanted to be free.

A song suddenly lit the air with sparks of fire. He gasped as it exploded around him with song and fire, a fierce cry of the sun. Fawkes was there as suddenly as thought, his wings beating to a beat that his own wings unconsciously mimicked, lifting him up, and he tried to shake his head no but was born up anyway, the magic and fire and song a tangible thing that could both harm and help, and he could no more fight it than he could put out the sun.

Fawkes led the way higher and higher, leaving the school far behind, and a part of himself was scared of discovery and punishment and_ failing_, but the greater part exulted. His magic gathered and expanded underneath his control, each of his runes a part of its scheme, and he wondered what could be greater and better than this, to fly with a brother.

From behind and to the side a dark force gathered closer, its own wings gaining speed and altitude, and he could make out the shape of the Quetzalcoatl as it got closer, annoyed hisses spilling from its mouth. It was mad at being left behind, mad at this squawky bird manipulating its master, and just plain mad in general. But it did so love the madness.

With the addition of Dread it was as if some unknown combination was complete, and the three were gathered close together in the song of flight, and freedom, and power.

Fawkes danced with the wind as he sang, and the magic that came forth was like a whirlwind of light, something he had to move around and through as he followed, and every time it touched him he struggled to remember who he was, and where he was, and why it must be so.

He could understand the light to a point, could see the mystery's it explained that he could barely understand, but knew enough to know that Fawkes was telling him something important.

The bird stopped in place, and they were so high up that he struggled to breathe, struggled to beat his wings, and the magic held him aloft now, something greater about to happen, something Fawkes brought him here to see and understand.

_Dawn._

It broke apart the darkness like a knife, so suddenly did it appear on the horizon. A stream of pink then orange then a blinding white, the surface of the sun winking into being and piercing him through. Somewhere his ears heard the highest note of all, and somehow he knew Dread was screaming in anger and joy all at once, magic in its highest form flooding through the air, summoned and held by a bird of fire and eternity.

It was the sun that looked him over now, looked and found him lacking. _ Ankh_ was his only tie to its magic, his only link to the force of fire and light. It demanded more, demanded its own share of blood, or it would banish him from the light of day, would burn him with its regard. It gave him a taste of pain, a flicker of the fire it bore in its heart, and a second lasted a lifetime in that agony and he realized that death was there, in the light, death and a clean reckoning.

Who said light was Kind and Good?

It was Fawkes who brought him back to himself, Fawkes' song of acquiescence, of forgiveness, of a promise made. Dread was curled inside him again, his magic shielding the serpent from the fire. He spent a precious second feeling the cool breeze fluttering through his wings, the sound of song, the noise of life. He opened his eyes, looking across him at the bird, shining in the light of dawn. He was beautiful.

Then everything that had happened went through his mind, and his awed glance turned into a fierce glare. He hissed, Dread coiling angrily inside him.

"_Did you just promise my next runic set to the Sun?!"_

* * *

Gerald Steel had awoken on the floor of his country cabin.

Everything had seemed so normal, ordinary. He had fallen, he supposed, and knocked his head. His hip was sore, his head a little fuzzy. Still, nothing that could not be fixed.

He absently began to prepare for bed, because it was late. He made distant plans to go visit his boys in London, to check in on the furniture business. He did so love the quietness of the country, but he missed spending time with the young ones. They always brought light into his life.

He finished a small glass of juice, went into his bedroom, and there was a note laying absently on top of his computer. He almost turned away, tired, but something itched at the edge of his mind.

A thought, an idea.

He picked up the note, reading with slight confusion.

_Who is Harry Potter?_

He squinted, confused. He did not remember this note, did not know this name. And yet, this was his handwriting. He flipped the paper over, his face suddenly going pale.

It was a picture, taken perhaps a few months ago, of him with his boys standing in front of the cabin, all smiling, all happy. But there, in front, a boy whose shoulder his very own gnarled hand rested on.

A boy he did not know, did not recognize.

He felt the world drop from underneath him, the meaning obvious within seconds, his world crashing down. He opened his computer, typed a hurried code into his messenger.

Within the hour, they arrived.

They operated quick and efficiently, scouring the house, setting the fuel. Two watched each exit, guns cradled gently in arms that would be quick to action, accurate and deadly.

Within two hours, he was watching his beloved country home burn to the ground in the rear window as he was driven away.

He was given a notebook, the driver's eyes kind and sad.

He flipped open the book, seeing pages upon pages of his own writing. He turned to the first page, and steadied his mind and calmed his soul. Then he began to read the account of his life the last few years, except it contained details he no longer knew, a person he could not remember.

_If I am reading this, than the worst has indeed happened as I feared it would..._

* * *

_To Be Continued: Diagon Alley and The Sorting_

_BREAK_

_~Review Please~_


	14. History

_**Authors Note: Okay, so did not get to the sorting as I planned, but I led right up to it. This chapter is not beta'd, as usual :(  
**_

_**A note to Draco fans: In the next few chapters, Draco will show more depth. I strive my hardest to have none of my characters be the stereotypical anything, and this goes for Draco as well. However, in this first meeting, both children are trying their best to awkwardly impress the other. As such, Draco will fall back on his norm: saying what his dad says, because his father is his pillar in his world. He has not matured enough to step out of his father's shadow, who he sees as the most powerful person in the world. Most sons do. **_

_**Runic Guide for this chapter:**_

_**Heth:**__**Phoenician, Fence. Allows a shield to be formed of varying strength (stronger as Harry relegates more magic to its structure). Much like a bubble, spreading in the air and under the earth. Activation word, "**__**Heth."**__** Located in the center of the left palm.**_

_**Zayin: Phoenician, Weapon. Meant to be an ambiguous weapon, in reality a lightning bolt that completely obliterates all it is targeted at. Uncontrollable. Repercussions: Harry is afraid of its use, after using it on a person without knowing the full effects. Extremely deadly. Activation Word: "Zayin." Located on the center of the right palm.**_

_**All of Harry's Runes are listed in my forum for this story. Link is on my profile.**_

* * *

_History may be servitude,_

_History may be freedom. See, now they vanish,_

_The faces and places, with the self which, as it could, loved them,_

_To become renewed, transfigured, in another pattern._

_-T.S. Elliot_

* * *

When he awoke to a knock on his door, he knew immediately that he had slept in too late. He blearily climbed out of bed, and stumbled over to the portrait door just as it swung open.

Professor McGonagall looked him over with disapproval, before speaking with a purse of her lips.

"Mr. Potter. You have slept right through lunch time. You were to go to purchase your school things this morning, but I see that will have to be rescheduled for tomorrow. The Headmaster wishes to see you in his office."

At that last comment, what was left of his good day vanished, and thirty minutes later he found himself once more at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the office. The two gargoyles seemed to mock him with their leering grins, and he was about to go hide in the library when a query summoned him inside.

"Mr. Potter?"

He signed and entered, not meeting the old man's eyes as he took a seat. Finally, he looked up, and the Headmaster took this as his cue to speak.

"I know we got off on the wrong foot, Mr. Potter. I hope that, in time, you can confide in me. We only want what is best for you. This is what your parents wished as well."

Harry looked down again, his eyes tracing the lines and grooves in the desk in front of him.

"Did you know them well, sir, my parents?"

Dumbledore paused, his face solemn.

"I knew them very well, my dear boy. They were grand people, great students. I had the opportunity to work closely with them before they passed. You are... aware... of the circumstances of their death?"

The man looked uncomfortable, and Harry could no longer see a reason to pretend ignorance. The wizards would be right to assume that since he knew some things of the wizarding world, he would also have heard of his own celebrity status.

"Yes, sir. I read about it in a book."

A safe way to put it. Vague. If it was possible, the Headmaster only looked sadder, his shoulders slumping.

"Yes, well. The books leave out much of that time period. If you would ever like more details, or to hear of their time at school..."

The man drifted off as Harry began to shake his head.

"It's alright, sir. They were murdered. My father was an Auror, he captured many Death Eaters. I suppose it was only a matter of time before they too were targeted."

He looked up again, his eyes going to the empty perch. Where was the phoenix? He turned back to the Headmaster.

"I know you will tell me anything I want to know. I just do not want to talk about it. Is that alright?"

Dumbledore immediately nodded his head, his hands steeped together in front of him. Harry looked again at the empty perch. Just as the old man was about to speak again, Harry quickly interrupted him, hoping to avoid a subject he had no desire to discuss with a man who he did not trust.

"Where is Fawkes?"

The question threw the Headmaster, who too turned and looked the perch over, before turning back to him with a smile.

"Fawkes goes where he wishes. He seems a bit absent these last days, however. Have you seen him?"

The question was casual, but Harry sensed something lurking underneath. He frowned even as he replied.

"Well, he joined me a bit last night. He is a good friend."

"Hmm, yes, a good listener as well, as I know."

The man's eyes twinkled, and Harry was suddenly reminded of Mr. Steel when he was hiding something. He did not like the feeling at all. He frowned again, his voice coming out harsher than he intended.

"Did you want to ask me something, sir?"

The eyes gazed back at him over the rims of the old man's spectacles.

"Well, yes, my boy. Have you chosen a House? Pomona tells me you have been most diligent reading up on them."

That traitor of a librarian! Figures the old witch would snitch on him. He nodded anyway, his hands twitching in his lap.

"I was thinking Gryffindor. My parents went there, after all. I was hoping, maybe, I could see where they came from. Where they met?"

The old man practically twinkled as he nodded, and Harry felt some burden lifted off his shoulders. It had been a hard decision, but he thought he had made the right one. Based on political status alone, Slytherins and Gryffindors were the most expedient. And the house of snakes was not an option, with its antagonistic Head and clever students. If he would be discovered, if he would be distrusted, it would be in that house. No, he was much safer with the camouflage Gryffindor would give him.

"Excellent! Of course, you will still attend the Sorting Ceremony. I figure you would not want you're… predicament to come to light. So, I have requested that the Hat call out your chosen choice when it is your turn to sit."

This was a relief to Harry. He did not want to be shown to be different on his first day of school. His face was going to be a big enough boundary! He was ushered out not long after the Headmaster's announcement, after sharing some pleasantries, and with relief he found his way back to the library and disappeared back into its depths. There was a lot to learn, and very little time to learn it in.

* * *

Two days and two nights passed in a haze of information. At night, he snuck up to the tower to fly with Fawkes, enjoying racing and competing with the scarlet phoenix. During the day, he haunted the library, soaking in as many books as he could find. He mostly focused on history and magical classifications, figuring that the actual learning of spells he could leave until he had his actual school books. There was a surprising lack of law books in the library, however, though he had noticed several in the Headmasters Office. Why wouldn't the library have some?

So instead, he researched heavily the separation of the so-called wizarding world from the more mundane one he grew up in.

It had not always been so, but then again, neither had wand-using magic, or staves, or word-oriented spells.

Until the 1600's, wizards and Muggles seemed to have an uneasy and often unequal balance in their lives. Under Harry's amazed eyes, he began to put together a picture of that time frame.

It had been _wizards _who had fled, had turned to hiding themselves to _protect_ their families from the Muggles!

Everything he had suspected, learning of wizarding power and ability, he had never thought that it would be wizards that were afraid. Wizards had been exploited, forced to perform spells, and hated for their ability. Others had been hunted and executed for practicing 'witchcraft', as the Catholic religion took greater and greater hold of the nation.

At one point, a short time after the Ministry of Magic was created in Britain, the Minister of that time had even _begged _theMuggle Monarch to set a law protecting their kind from mundane citizens! In some ways, this was seen as the last straw in a long line of failures to reconcile the two types of human.

It did not help that wizarding children were often the most casualties due to their lack of control over their abilities. He uncomfortably thought of Mr. Steel and his great plan, targeting young children. It was an age old trick, it appeared, allowing whole families and communities to be discovered and slaughtered. He had thought that the wizards were the villains in the story, but now it was the Muggles.

By 1689, the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was signed, and only three years later enacted and enforced. Every magical government the world over was to enforce the boundaries in their own parameters, to keep magic and wizards themselves secret. Harry could not help but notice that the dates coincided with the Salem Witch Trials, and he wondered if the two were related in any way.

Only once in recent memory had a wizard, or in this case, a witch, tried to repeal the law keeping the wizarding world secret from Muggles. Carlotta Pinkstone, born in the early 1920s, had been quite vocal about the pros of doing away with the international law, and had performed several feats of magic, some even wandless, in front of mass groups of Muggles. Subsequently, she had eventually been sent to Azkaban, a wizard prison, where he could only guess she still was.

It did not seem to give his chances of success much hope.

Where the wizards still afraid? They apparently allowed Muggleborns free access, and by proxy, their parents and families. Witch trials and executions were now illegal, and had been for some time. Some Muggle's even attempted to perform their own mystical versions of magic and practiced it in the open and for the most part unmolested. But then again, they were very rarely taken seriously and widely believed to be fakes. Would the wizarding world be at risk?

They were so powerful. Had so much potential. How could they have been in such danger?

Harry had just sat, determined to dig further into another three books he had found the evening before, when a cough brought his attention up from his book in the library.

Headmaster Dumbledore stood there, looking cheery in bright purple robes with comets etched across them. As he watched, one suddenly shot off across the old man's right shoulder. The man spoke, laughter in his voice.

"Well, my boy, I see you are making excellent use of our wonderful library. I was going to see if you would be amiable to shopping at Diagon Alley today, perhaps one of the best places to buy your school supplies in northern London."

Harry immediately began to get excited, his eyes widening as he sat up straighter.

"Oh yes, sir!"

Dumbledore laughed, and he gestured behind him.

"Our groundskeeper, Hagrid, is going today right after lunch. He has some errands to run for the school. Will that work for you?"

Harry nodded, thrilled to be going with the giant man who had seemed kind, if a little dim. It would be easy to slip a few odd purchases past the man, especially if he was busy doing 'errands'. He smiled.

"Of course, sir! I can not wait to see the bookstore."

At that, Dumbledore laughed and shook his head, before saying his farewells. Harry yawned, and then looked down at his books before deciding he was done for the morning. He needed to go get Dread before lunch time, for he had no idea if they would be leaving right away or not. He would spend the time working on his notes.

* * *

Harry had begun researching the new runic set he would be forced to undergo in the next year.

The image of Fawkes the first time he had seen him was etched in Harry's mind. The phoenix, surrounded by flames, teleporting into the room with a sweep of his wings. After a terse and mostly one-sided argument with the bird three nights ago, Harry had come to the conclusion that he would, somehow, need to perform a third runic set within the next year, before the summer solstice. Or perhaps on it? And it would have to be done during the light of day, mid-day to be precise.

How he was going to pull that off he was still unsure. He also was uncertain of the reactions that might happen from doing a ritual at a time of day he was unsure of, and had no experience with. How would the sun affect the runes? Where would he do it at? Questions had filled his mind.

However, his thoughts kept turning back to Fawkes. The abilities the phoenix had were amazing. Teleporting was his favorite, especially the awesome way he did it. Wizards were capable of such, called Apparition, but it was never silent and could not be done to a place that had not been previously seen or visited before. It also left one at risk for 'splinching', or leaving parts behind. Just the thought turned his stomach.

Harry instead wondered if he could somehow utilize a runic set to copy some of these abilities. At first, he ambitiously considered both animate transformation, or changing into an actual phoenix, as well as the various powers of a phoenix. But just considering all the ins and outs had left him with the impression that it could not be done in only one set. Indeed, just the teleporting aspect, through flame, would probably take all seven runes. Without Fawkes's help it would be impossible anyway.

Harry sat at his desk, thinking it out on paper, until he saw it was time for lunch. He quickly hopped up, spent a second looking around his room for anything he might need, and then hurried out.

* * *

Diagon Alley was all he expected and yet nothing like it at all. Wizards crowded in and moved, busier than any London street that he had known. It was only the odd dress and odder shops that graced the area that let off that something magical was amiss. He also could not help but noticed that this 'Leaky Cauldron', was very near one of the Steel Wing's typical haunts. His home was only a few blocks away, a place of refuge and shelter.

For a split second he was lost in the desire to leave, to flee while he still had this last chance. He turned away instead, his heart breaking. He owed it to Mr. Steel, to the boys. He owed them all.

Wizards began to flock to them every time the bumbling giant said his name. Harry began to wonder if it was a good thing to be accompanied by such a stealthless man. After the fifth introduction, Harry began to forget names and faces. So many wizards, so many people who admired and loved him. And none of them knew him. None knew he had even been missing from their grasp.

They went to the bank first, a nervous Hagrid asking to be taken to vault 713 in bare whispers. Goblins lined row upon row of stations, a low murmur floating through the air. Transactions carried out in low tones and voiced. The creatures, no, beings were gruff and ugly, their manner purposefully abrasive. He mentally reviewed all he knew of goblins, and poked Hagrid in the side gently. The giant man turned to him, smiling. Harry spoke up softly.

"Can I go see my family vault, as well?"

The man hesitated, anxious for some reason he could not fathom. In a hurry. Harry spoke again, cajoling.

"Why don't you go ahead, it will be faster if we go separate. And I'd like to look around a bit, you know."

Hagrid finally reluctantly nodded, asking for a separate goblin and handing over a golden key when prompted. Harry watched it eagerly, determined to have that key in his own possession by the end of the day. A goblin, Griphook, stepped forward, sneering and motioning him onwards. He followed, playing the part of nervous, shy boy, following all prompts silently.

The cart ride was nothing short of amazing, and Harry found himself spreading his arms wild in delight. The goblin seemed to snarl at him, before he realized it was a smile. It still sent shivers down his spine, even as he returned the vicious look with one of his own, a toothy grin that probably looked idiotic. The goblin seemed to get the point anyway, pushing the magic in the cart faster with its own light, a gloomy type that reminded him of caves and moss and creeping things. He reminded himself not to get on the goblins bad side.

They came to a stop at his trust vault first, and after doing some quick calculations, Harry snapped up enough gold to get his supplies plus any books he encountered worth owning. He placed the money in a bag provided by the bank, which got no heavier for the extra weight. Must be a featherlight charm, he thought silently, before getting back into the cart. Griphook watched him, looking both amused and curious. It was hard to read the goblins face, but his magic seemed to have a particular tone to it that spoke something of his feelings.

They were on another ride, this one longer and much farther down. At one point he swore he saw a flash of fire and gleaming teeth. Finally they arrived, and Harry eagerly jumped off and waited before the door. The goblin did not open it with the key like he had last time. Instead, he fixed Harry with a pointed stare. He shifted from foot to foot, his brows wrinkling together. Finally, he snapped out a quick question.

"Well? Is there a problem?"

Griphook grinned savagely, before speaking in a gravely deep throated voice.

"I see some impatience, little wizard."

Harry wanted to yell, but forced himself to calm down. The goblin was trying to get a rise out of him. He signed, racked his brain again, and then replied cordially.

"How do I gain entrance to my family vault?"

The goblin stared him down a few seconds longer, before pointing to the statue beside the vault door. It was a lion, resplendent in gold with a flash of ruby in its eyes. It held one large paw out loosely, five sharp claws distended out as if to casually scoop in a scrap of meat to its open maw. The goblin laughed and spoke from beside him.

"_Blood tells,_ Mr. Potter. Perhaps you know this better than most?"

Harry whipped around, narrowed eyes searching Griphook's face. Nothing but a sneer answered his unspoken question. Finally, a heartbeat later, he stepped forward, not allowing himself to hesitate. He could see the magic now, silver veins that ran through the statue and door, a form of family magic utilized by the goblins. He reached his palm out, _Zayin_ just touching one long claw, then quickly drew it down and back, a quick slash he barely felt on top of the scar tissue already present. It was nothing compared to what he had performed before, a mere scratch, but still magic poured out from the wound, flowing from his body with his blood and into the Lions palm and body and mane. Its eyes gleamed with a red flame, staring into his, and for a second he could see through its eyes, see a brown haired man, head bowed in weariness, stepping forward with quickened steps. A loud click startled him back to reality. The door swung opened silently, and he stepped back from the now ordinary looking statue.

He began to enter before a touch on his arm brought him to halt. He looked over at Griphook, startled to see they were the same height. Before, the goblin seemed to give off a measure of smallness, as if it was what he expected it to be. But, his mind told him, a goblin would be the size of a child. Why had he seen it smaller? His confused look brought a grin to the Griphooks face. The goblin pushed a handkerchief into his hand, and he looked down, only now noticing the blood dripping from the tips of his fingers. The nerves in his palm were slightly damaged from his previous work with runes, and he had not even realized the scrape was that raw. He stemmed the flow absently, unsure of what to say. Griphook spoke first.

"It is always a pleasure to see the old magic at work. Many families now are beginning to get squeamish about their vault security. It was not always so. _Wizards._"

Harry nodded, before clearing his throat.

"So, if I wanted to take something with me..."

"_Absolutely not allowed."_

The goblin snorted. Then he turned and walked back to the cart without another word. Harry repressed a snort of his own, before going back and entering his vault. It was as crammed with stuff as he ever imagined. Gold heaped to what he thought might be a ceiling, but in some way was not. Golden objects, wooden furniture. Books, many piled in corners and crannies with no sense of organization. It would take him a lifetime to explore the whole thing. He looked around, lost. He was not sure what he had been expecting. A ghost to guide him? A written letter? Some kind of magical map? Something left for him from his parents? At the last, he felt his shoulder slump. There was no table set apart, no chest cracked open.

At that last, his eyes snagged on just that. A chest, backed against a pile of metal objects that might have once been a suit of armor. He stepped towards it and yanked it out from underneath the metal with a clanging noise. The chest was light as a feather, small and simple. On its open lid was an engraved picture of the lion that graced the door of the vault. He hesitantly opened it the rest of the way, only to sigh in disappointment. The thing was empty, except for four drawers that seemed to pull out. He closed the lid with a slam, and jumped back as the lion on the lid stepped out from its perch to mold over the lip of the chest before stilling once more. He tried to open it again, but it refused to budge. He felt around for a clasp. Nothing.

With a frown, he pulled the chest behind him a little ways more with a leather strap on its side. He walked around it, frowning. Finally, he lifted the bloody handkerchief from his palm and smeared it across the face of the lion. He almost shouted with delight as the lion once more coalesced and moved away, the lid clicking open. He smiled. A voice from the door way startled him.

"It is getting late, young wizard. I imagine your keeper is anxious."

Harry frowned at the goblin, who looked the trunk over with a glint in his eyes.

"I see you've found your family trunk. Each compartment will open into a wizard space, a charmed area that is limited only by the confines you place upon it. They are charmed to open when the previous holder passes on from this world, their magic dispersed into the greater void. From the state of it, I doubt it's been used in several generations. For good reason, I imagine."

At that, Harry spoke up.

"And why not? Its looks bloody useful to me."

The goblin sneered, its teeth glinting in the parody of a smile.

"Well, I imagine it's because the weak wizards don't like getting their palms cut open every day when they want to get out their little school supplies. No little passwords, either, before you ask. That was not the way it was done. Such information could be ripped from a mind by an enemy, stolen by a betraying loved one. No, only the powerful cared to guard their secrets in such a way. Only blood willingly given, recently spilt, would open such a chest."

Harry looked at it with longing. His eyes must have spoken his desire. The goblin let loose a harsh laugh.

"You know the rules, wizard. No child under the age decreed by the ministry may take items from their family vault."

A particular tone stood out to Harry, a discordant, a stress on _ministry. _He stood straighter.

"What would it take for the ministry not to know?"

The goblins eyes gleamed in the low light. Desire sparked its magic, a light that smoothly glowed from within. Griphook spoke quietly.

"No gold is worth the risk."

Harry met the goblins eyes. Gold was power in the goblin culture, the ebb and flow of their economy and life. Their very magic was tied to the making and forging of it, gold and silver and copper, magic turned to money, passing through magical hands, out and back again, ever stronger for its passing, for the meaning inscribed to it. What wasn't worth gold? A goblin would give its life easily for the chance to hold more of it. _No._ There was something more going on here. He thought back to their conversation before. What was more powerful than gold? The blood that kept it, of course.

"You want some of my blood."

He spoke it as a statement, but the goblin immediately shook its head, though its magic spoke otherwise.

"Perhaps, merely, the ability to call on that blood."

"A favor?"

The goblin was silent. As if merely speaking its desire was the risk. Harry was out of his depth, and a sudden feeling of overwhelming pressure set on him. So much had happened, was happening, and now he could not even navigate a simple transaction. Sure, it was an illegal one, but still. He did not want to show weakness, knew it would be a mistake when dealing when a goblin. He straightened his spine, and finally held out the palm from earlier. He pulled off the bloody handkerchief, and could see his rune clearly before his eyes. Griphook looked down curiously, before looking back at the wizard. Harry spoke the activation word, softly.

"_Zayin."_

A small spark lit his palm, a shot of magical electricity that outlined the rune in his sight, and the goblin jumped back, startled. The bolt fizzled out. Harry spoke, his voice still soft.

"It means weapon, in ancient Phoenician. I suppose..."

He was going to say that he supposed the goblin would know what that meant, the full ramification of having one Rune, that there had to be more. For goblins above all knew that magic loved its numbers, had been driven by its hand when coming up for the complicated numerical money system that wizards used but did not question.

Griphook spoke before he could finish.

"Well, Mr. Potter. This will do quite nicely, I think."

Perhaps it could be called blackmail. The ability to reveal, for a price, a great and grave secret held by the savior of the wizarding world. More likely, it was a promise. Should Griphook call, Harry would answer, a vow made on a rune that would accept nothing less than blood shed for blood, in equal measure. Later, he would wonder about the intelligence behind making a vow with a creature that many wizards considered to be barbaric.

He looked longingly at the other items in his vault, before sighing and turning away. In a few years, maybe, he could truly spend time exploring its secrets.

As he loaded the trunk into the cart and climbed in, Griphook paused with his knarly hand on the switch.

"You have potential, Mr. Potter."

He supposed, from a goblin, that was nothing short of thunderous applause.

He climbed out when they reached the bank, and turned awkwardly to Griphook. He was unsure quite what to say. None of his books really prepared him for secret dealings with goblins. Finally, he spoke what he thought could be a blessing, though it sounded something like a curse as well. Perfect for a goblin he supposed.

"May your gold flow like blood."

He was answered with a smiling snarl.

* * *

Hagrid collected him outside the bank, acting as if no time had passed at all. He barely spared the trunk he carried with a glance and a comment, "See you got a trunk, Harry! Wonderful!", and led the way to a particular street crowded with shops. He pointed to several in a row and pushed him in their direction, before shuffling off on another 'errand'. He was beginning to wonder about these wizards. The Headmaster actually thought this was a good guardian for him? He could've escaped ten times over by now. Did the man truly trust him? Was he simply trying to make up for the obliviation incidence? At that thought, he felt a scowl working onto his face. He shook his head and entered the clothing store first. _Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions._ Looking around, he realized that Hagrid could probably not fit inside the shop at all.

He was alone for the first few fittings. It seemed wizards still did things the old fashioned way, getting personally fitted for their clothes. It was a bit odd, the older woman wearing mauve robes, circling him with a floating measuring tape, chattering about this or that. It was a relief when another young boy was led back into the dressing room.

The boy was taller than him, with hair so blond it as almost white. He had a tiny upturned nose and pointed face that gave off the impression of superiority. The way he held himself only increased the impression. The boy was obviously well dressed already. As another woman began to take his measurements, the boy turned to him with curious eyes, before speaking forcefully.

"So you're going to Hogwarts, too?" The boy asked.

"Yes." Harry replied.

"I read first years are not allowed to have brooms yet, which it total bullocks. I'm going to get my father to smuggle me one in somehow."

He was finally talking to another wizarding child. Harry could barely contain his excitement, but was unsure how to proceed. They had to have something in common.

"So, do you fly much?"

"Oh, all the time. Why, my father says I'm a sure fit for team seeker! I'm going to be in Slytherin, of course. Just like all my family was. Where do you think you will go?"

Harry wasn't sure how to answer the question. He knew that the children were not supposed to have a choice, but this one seemed so certain of his own placement. He supposed certain tendencies could run in a family. So did he say he already knew he was in Gryffindor, or should he beat around the bush. Finally, Harry spoke hesitantly.

"Well, I think I'll go to Gryffindor, though I like Slytherin and Ravenclaw too."

The boy's face got an almost comical look to it.

"_Gryffindor _or _Slytherin_? All Gryffindors hate Slytherins, you can't like _both_."

Well, there goes that. Harry had hoped he sounded neutral. Hated each other? Dumbledore had not included that little tidbit in his speech about the houses. Harry racked his brain, trying to think of how to salvage the situation. Finally he hit on what the boy had said earlier.

"Well, you know, my parents were in Gryffindor. But I think I could go to Slytherin."

The boy looked appeased, if not totally satisfied.

"Well, trust me, Slytherin is the best. I mean, anything is better than _Hufflepuff,_ of course!"

Harry nodded, for lack of anything better to say. He wasn't sure he had much in common with this boy. To condemn a whole house of students because they possessed the trait of loyalty above courage or intelligence? In his mind, a Hufflepuff if anything would be the best kind of friend to have. Of course, a lot of what the boy said seemed parroted, probably from his father or older siblings. Harry tried to open the conversation again, trying to think of another similarity the boy might have with himself.

"So, what do you think will be your favorite subject at Hogwarts?"

The boy smirked.

"Well, I imagine I will do well in potions, I've had special training by my godfather. Transfiguration I hear is taught by an old bat who only gives points to Gryffindors. Charms sounds fun to me though, and the man who teaches it is a _dueling champion_!"

Harry nodded along, amused a bit by how the boy described people he hadn't even met yet. McGonagall, a bat? That described the potion professor more than her. And he doubted the boy would be much impressed with Professor Flitwick when he saw the man was even shorter than himself!

"Well, what about you?"

The blond boy asked, his head tilting slightly. The women bustled about them, measuring and writing. Harry for the life of him could not figure out what was taking so long. They had magic, of all things! He answered without thinking.

"Well, I really like Ancient Runes the best."

The boy got a funny look on his face.

"We don't start that until third year."

Harry quickly tried to cover himself.

"Oh, well, yeah. I just read a book."

The boy seemed to scoff. At that moment Madam Malkin bustled up and told him they were done measuring. He climbed down from the stool happily, feeling rescued. He could get away from the conversation before it got more awkward. The blond boy cleared his throat as Harry started to leave the room. He stopped, uncertain. Finally, the blond declared proudly,

"My name is Draco Malfoy. I look forward to seeing you on the train."

Harry fought both the urge to smile and to dash from the room. He had been hoping to get away before he was forced to tell who he was.

"I'm Harry Potter. "

The boy looked absolutely floored. Harry turned and left, but not before seeing the blond's eyes flash up to his forehead. That could have gone better. Maybe he would see Draco on the train, could try making friends again. That is, if the boy was interested in anything other than the scar on his forehead. He desperately wanted to make friends in this new world he was in. He kept his head down as he walked to the front desk of the store, and placed his order quickly for the needed school robes and some extra under clothes. He had not been able to bring any with him, so he pretty much needed some of everything. The clothes provided by the school nurse where ugly at best and itchy at worst.

* * *

When he left the robe shop with the promise to return for his purchases, Hagrid was waiting with two hands full of ice cream. He smiled before he could stop himself, and happily dug in. After that, they visited the apothecary and then the bookstore. Harry refrained from buying anything other than the required books, despite what he had told the Headmaster. Instead, he picked up an owl order catalogue for him to go through later. It contained every book on display plus some, and promised next day delivery.

For a fee, of course.

Which finally solved the flying packages mystery. They really were delivered by owl, only the owls were under a charm that did not allow Muggles to see them, which explained how they were not more noticeable with the size of the wizarding population. He tucked the catalogue into his trunk with the other items, putting the potion ingredients in one and the books in another. He would leave the third for clothes, and the fourth for miscellaneous things. He had no idea how else he was going to organize inside the wizard space compartments. Especially the books. It could quickly get messy. He finally clasped the trunk closed with a snap. He figured anything else he bought he could carry directly on his person instead of opening the trunk again. The handkerchief he had been using had dried and crusted over, and was now useless for opening the trunk.

The trip to the pet store was quick, Harry carefully not paying any attention to the snakes hissing from one side of the room. He was just looking over the cats when Hagrid knocked on the glass, proudly showing off a beautiful snowy owl from the Owl Emporium across the street. He could not help but feel a burst of happiness at the unexpected present, his fondness for Hagrid growing. Once the newly dubbed Hedwig was sent on to Hogwarts, Harry finally went to the place he had been looking forward to the whole time. Ollivanders.

* * *

The wand shop was nestled between two others, narrow and shabby looking. The sign claimed the family had been making wands since 382 B.C, something that confused Harry. He had not thought wands had been widely used until much later than that. He entered the store slowly, his eyes darting around. Wands graced every surface, on tables and chairs and every shelf, cramped and cluttered. How on earth could the storekeeper operate in this mess?

A noise brought his attention around, to an older man, slightly stooped, who looked up at him with knowing eyes.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. I've been expecting you."

The man moved around his desk, coming towards him, his hands in pulling random things into the air to float behind him. Harry stared in amazement. As the man muttered on about his parent's wands, his own eyes were fixed on the magic teeming through the store. The man was like a spider, the store a huge web made of thousands of strands of light. The man seemed to pause, waiting for a response Harry did not give. Then he spoke, his eyes locked on Harry.

"Well, you are a quiet one. You are here for a wand, of course. Every wizard must have one."

Of course, every wizard must, Harry thought sarcastically, though inside he was teeming with excitement. To be able to cast a spell with no true thought! No rituals or complex ingredients, simply a flick or swish or fancy word and there it was. The man motioned, using several floating measuring tapes to measure every inch of Harry, which he would of thought strange if his eyes did not see that the tapes were measuring his magic. Or, at least, attempting to.

The man's eyes were beginning to narrow, as the tapes exchanged conflicting results, one after another. Finally, he hummed deep in his throat, extending a single glimmering string of light towards Harry. He watched it with wide eyes, before darting to the side to avoid it seconds before it touched the center of his forehead. The man clapped in excitement.

"Bravo, Mr. Potter! Amazing, oh yes, you must one day tell me how you learned to see what can only be shown."

While Harry was still wrapping his mind around that statement, the man reached behind him, grabbing a random box of a shelf, though Harry could see the truth. His magic web extended to every box in the store, switching and swapping and cataloguing every magical node. Each node must be a wand, a piece of the web. The man reverently opened the box, lifting out a single wand. He eyed it for a few minutes, before looking up at Harry with calculating eyes.

"No use testing wands with you, Mr. Potter, no use. To see magic is to be able to utilize it. I daresay nearly every wand would be glad to be your partner, would be able to resonate with your soul. Only one wand can bond with a wizard in its lifetime, and only the wand you have bonded with will work best for you, not anyone else's. So your choice must be made carefully, indeed, and that is my job."

The man paused, his eyes running over Harrys Muggle clothes and then to the trunk he had wheeled in behind him. Finally he spoke, just as Harry was about to open his own mouth. He had begun to fidget under the scrutiny, nervous.

"Well, I'll cut straight to heart of the matter, as it were. Some wands are special, Mr. Potter. Sometimes it because of a rare ingredient, sometimes it's because of a rare person who uses it, and sometimes it's because a rare person makes it. Here, is a combination of all three. You see, this here, this is the last wand my grandfather laid his hands on, and his magic imprinted on it so. This wand knew it was special when it was born into the world."

Harry nodded, his eyes fixed on the wand. The man continued after a small pause.

"Some say the core is the most important part of a wand, though I daresay that is hardly true in many cases. Still, within this wood is one of only two feathers given by a certain phoenix, a rare and powerful creature. What makes it truly unique is the Holly wood surrounding it. Holly, you see, is known for its protective qualities, for being strong and defensive. It is the wood for a wizard on a quest, a wood to solve great problems. Phoenixes, however... well. If you get the chance to meet one, you will know. They are known for their detachment. So few even come into contact with wizards at all, preferring the far off reaches of the wild, the high mountains and deep valleys of the desert. To even combine Holly and Phoenix feather is a great risk, a combustive combination, one I never quite understood my grandfather taking."

Harry began to reach out, his magic lifting from himself in a mantle that the older man's eyes followed with something like awe. The older man spoke again, encouraging.

"Go ahead, Mr. Potter."

He held his palms out in front of him, cupped, waiting. The wand was sentient, in a way, he could see it. It had a magic all its own, a node, a flicker of light that looked like nothing he had seen before. He called to it with his own light, his runes warming on his skin, Dread brushing against his core, curious eyes looking through his own. Then the wand pulsed, subtly, and their magic touched together. He did not remember grasping it, or lifting it, but suddenly it was _there,_ in his hand, its line following_ Zayin,_ the Weapon, and from its tip flowed light of every color, a rainbow of magic that flooded the shop and lifted his spirits. He heard Fawkes singing, joyously, and knew suddenly what the shopkeeper would say next, as his eyes met the older man's own.

"Of course, I always suspected my grandfather was trying to right a wrong he may have considered himself committing. You see, that other feather, that other pure magical essence was enclosed in a wand of Yew. A dark wood, rare in itself, known for its fierceness and raw power. Another boy came in here and left with it, after being told of the great acts such a wand was capable of. Great acts indeed, _terrible,_ but great."

The man paused, his eyes suddenly locked on the scar on Harry's forehead. Then they dropped again to meet his eyes with a look of sorrow.

"That wand gave you that scar."

Harry licked his lips in sudden nervousness, even as his heart lurched. Voldemort, the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Whose wand was his wand's brother.

He lowered his wand, for it was his now, and no one else's. He reverently touched it with the tip of a finger, running down the wood, feeling the texture and seeing the light flare. Its own magic slid through his, warming his fingers and hand. He switched to his left hand, felt _Heth _meld with the wand as _Zayin_ had, a Shield this time, and smiled. He suddenly had an inkling of the things he might accomplish with such combinations. He looked back up at Ollivander.

"How do I carry it? It does not seem... proper to put it in a pocket or trunk."

Ollivander immediately shook his head in a chiding manner.

"Oh, most certainly never put in in your pocket! Why, wizards have lost some things they would rather of not lost that way! Oh, No, certainly not. Many wizards carry their wand in holsters strapped to their wrists or legs, or insert it in a commonly carried object like a cane. Some make their own means of carrying their wands, as there are spells and rituals designed to allow one to stay in constant contact with your wand. I'm afraid you will need to look those up on your own."

He quickly added as Harry had begun to speak. Harry asked if he could purchase a holster for his forearm, and was directed back to _Madam Malkin's_. It seemed she sold leather products as well as basic clothing.

He paid and walked towards the door, then hesitated before leaving the shop, looking back at Ollivander. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say, if he needed to say anything.

"Well, thanks."

The man simply smiled.

* * *

When they reached Hogwarts it was time for dinner, which Harry dug into with gusto. His wand was a constant warmth against his left forearm, held tight with three loops of leather he had purchased from Madam Malkin while picking up his clothes. The woman had merely flicked her wand a few times and there it was.

"Simple, working with cow skin products. Much more pliable than dragonhide, let me tell you! It has a mind of its own!"

Harry had smiled and shown his gratitude, before leaving with his bags tucked under his arm. Hagrid had given him a curious glance, and then whisked them away on his flying motorcycle, which was by far the most awesome thing Harry thought the wizards had come up with. When he told Hagrid so, the large man had blushed, and muttered on about it being a gift, and not quite accepted among the average wizards. Harry, after considering the popularity of broomsticks, agreed.

Later that night, after dinner, Harry had happily waiting for Fawkes to show up. When he did, Harry excitedly whipped out his wand, laying it reverently across his palms and holding it out to the phoenix.

Fawkes lowered his head, the feathered crest on his neck and back lifting slightly. His feathers gleamed in the low lamp light. A soft trill sounded from his throat, and Harry's wand responded with a flash of light, a welcome home. Harry smiled, extending his magic to meet with the wands, what he recognized now as a small portion of Fawkes donated energy. Donated, and irreclaimable. A sacrifice of magical essence, for the sole purpose of allowing some child the ability to access their magic easier.

Harry suddenly felt inadequate; that such a being would willingly sacrifice some of itself for him, so that life was easier for him. Was he; was anyone, worth such a thing?

A soft trill brought him out of his reverie. Fawkes sat there regally, his eyes looking into him. A soft thought whispered across his magic.

_Just-the-chance-was-worth-it._

Harry was confused. The chance for what? Fawkes again whispered into his magic, his wings rustling softly against his back, a flicker of fire.

_Family-beckoning-life._

The response made no sense to him. Phoenix's had an eternity of life, Fawkes had Dumbledore. What more did he want? Beckoning? Like, a calling? Perhaps, the feathers given as a means to summon something? Fawkes suddenly lifted off, his eyes amused. He trilled again, received an answering spark from the wand, and then vanished in a swarm of fire and light and song.

Dread hissed from the tabletop in sarcastic laughter. Harry sighed.

_Phoenixes._

* * *

He supposed living at Hogwarts was definitely going to have its perks. While the Headmaster seemed determined to keep Harry under his thumb, Harry got to enjoy the library and relative freedom. He was expected to attend meals, of course, but other than that the other teachers kind of left him alone. As if they were not sure quite what to make of him. He figured they thought he couldn't escape, would either lack the means or the ability or even the knowledge of where he was. This, in some ways, was true. Scotland was all he could figure from the history book he was reading. Somewhere in Scotland, by a lake.

Not that he wanted to escape. He was lonely, that was all. He missed the boys, missed the cabin. He had no friends, no one to really talk to or laugh with. Hagrid was great, and loved to go on and on about magical creatures, and did not mind Harry going into the supposedly Forbidden Forest. But it did not quite make up for the constant companionship Harry had become used to.

Dread was still a constant, hissing and muttering in his mind or his bedroom. Dread got along alright with Fawkes, who came by nearly every night to sing-think to Harry. The snake did not particularly like the bird, sometimes muttering about the _'dratted-winged-squeaker_', but had downgraded from outright hostility. Fawkes ignored him with good-humored superiority.

If it had not been for Fawkes, Harry might have cracked sooner. As it was, it was not until the night after returning from Diagon Alley that Harry, sitting on the Astronomy Tower, felt his world begin to spin. It was simply becoming too much to hold it together. So many new things and new thoughts. Now, with Hedwig, Harry had the opportunity to establish contact with Mr. Steel. But should he? Was it too soon? Could the wizards trace the message? Could Hedwig even deliver, would Mr. Steel even remember? Should he wait until he could meet the man in person? Would Mr. Steel even remember their set meeting place? So many questions, now pouring down on him.

He was caught in the uncertainty, swimming in it, with no one to turn to. Dread was lowly hissing, a stream of _anger-sorrow-hunger-lonely-fear-flight-pain. _It was an echo of his own base feelings, a reverberation that simply kept going back and forth between them as the Quetzalcoatl tried to help but simply made things worse. Dread was not given to comfort, but as a tool to enable. The ability was beyond him. All his solutions required action, and Harry was literally stuck, unable to act, to see a solution. He was afraid.

And so Fawkes came again, singing. Why was Fawkes so different from other phoenixes, why did he care? His song soothed the burn he was unconscious of, lit on his runes and ran through his magic like a river of fire. His song-thoughts ran through Harrys mind in a steady stream.

_We-are-one-brothers-of-light-let-me-help-calm-dete rmination-power._

Fawkes landed in front of him on the cast-iron railing, his fingers glowing in the dark under the stars. Harry found himself reaching out, running his fingers through the fire his mind told him was not there but was, and thought back in halting spears of light.

_Afraid-so-afraid-so-tired-so-lonely-so-alone._

Fawkes beckoned and Harry followed, two winged shapes leaving the earth behind to race the air, to ride the currents and feel the light and Fawkes let Harry see some of what he saw, how the stars rained down on the earth sometimes in showers of light, how some days were like others and some were not, how the moon never looked away but only turned her face to the light, because she loved the sun, her glory was his reflection, her glory his might and so she was never alone in the dark.

_Never-alone._

Harry wept at that thought, even as he finally allowed himself to trust, to embrace it, to allow the phoenix the spot within himself he had been afraid to give, afraid to have yet another being ripped from him in the name of the _greater-good_.

And then he laughed aloud, as Dread sulkily turned over in his mind, its coils rustling in his thoughts.

"_Silly Winged Squeakers, the both of you."_

* * *

Albus settled in his chair, night robe swirling about his shoulders and feet. Once more Harry had gone up into the Astronomy Tower, perhaps one of the only places in Hogwarts that was not graced with a portrait. Deborah the Green reported phoenix song drifting down the corridor, and he could only assume that Fawkes had once more graced Harry with his presence. That thought both reassured him, and saddened him. He missed the company of the phoenix, and worried that Harry might need the phoenix so often.

But then, what they had done was unforgivable. To snatch a child away from all he had known, simply because they were afraid. To permanently erase the memory of one who had looked after the child so that he would no longer remember the boy to look for him. They had severed a trust with Harry that might never be gained back. All because Severus saw one tiny fragment of hate and fear and loneliness. And now, the man was gone, and all chance of finding the truth gone with him.

He had Harry under constant watch, as the boy trudged about the school, mostly in the library but occasionally down the Hagrids or up to the upper levels. It was always with the same slow, steady walk, as if the child was under some great burden. He had resisted placing a portrait in the child's room to give him some privacy at least, trusting in his monitoring charms to alert him if the boy was in any kind of danger: from others, or himself.

What had Harry been through already? Albus had hoped in the last weeks the boy would of opened up to someone at least, one of the teachers or even Hagrid. And now, term would be started in just a week. Hopefully the boy would make some good friends, some people to hold him to their world, to make him love their world. To make him willing to fight for its safety.

He sighed, regrets burning in his gut. His took another sip of tea, eyes dull with sorrow.

He had had so many hopes.

* * *

Harry taped his wand slowly against _Heth_.

He sat in room, several books laid out on his bed. He had done some research on Ancient Runic circles and their uses, as well as the bases for creating trigger spells. One chapter talked of how a wizard could place a specific spell in a specific circle to be triggered when it was touched by a magical signature. This was mostly done by the Ancient Egyptians to protect their tomes, but it had other uses as well. A cooling spell for a hot room, a cleaning spell in a sink, a dusting spell on a floor. However, they were extremely difficult to create, and usually required some sacrifice of some kind, hence the reason they were no longer popular.

It was said the runes protecting the ancient pyramids required the sacrifice of over a hundred magical slaves.

But his runes had already been activated by sacrifice, his own, the strongest kind. And they shared a common core with these other prescribed circles, that they were endued with a specific purpose. In _Heth's_ case, to protect and defend.

He lifted his wand and placed it in the center of his left palm, allowing his magic to rise and flood both the rune and wand. He curled his fingers around the wand, fused to his rune, and spoke the word.

"_Heth."_

An explosion of magic, flooding the room, tearing the books from the bed and flinging them to the floor, his sheets and curtains billowing, his mind aligned with the rune as it looked for threats and found none. A sphere of magic that extended from the room on all sides, enveloping. His breath began to labor, and the wand dropped from his hand and rolled across the floor as he fell to his knees.

It was not exhaustion, but extreme elation, the feeling of happiness so pure bursting in his chest, making him unable to breath or speak. His ears were ringing with phoenix song, his throat aching as if he had screamed. Maybe he had.

He groaned and pulled himself up onto the bed, flopping down with a sigh. Hi messy hair stuck in every direction and he found himself grinning then laughing in delight.

He loved his wand!

But wow, that was going to take some getting used to, and some serious practice. He wouldn't be able to do that until he could control it, for the wand seemed to triple the effect of the rune. However, it also used up magic from his core that would not have been utilized normally, as the rune had its own blood source. No. He shook his head and sighed again, green eyes narrowed up at his ceiling. His knowledge of magic and runes would need to increase greatly before he could truly access and control such magic. But the possibilities...

He turned over, reaching for another leather bound book, this one red with golden letters, that had fallen to the floor. He pulled it up in front of him, flipping it open. Its language was stilted, and often archaic, but it was very clear to Harry's mind.

_Legislative Guide to the Proper Use of Magic._

It listed a law that had made his heart race. Obliviation, the art of wiping memories from a mind, was illegal except by certified technicians acting in an official capacity, for the sole purpose of protecting the wizarding world from Muggles. His mind had initially raced with ideas, from contacting the government and reporting a wrong-doing, to confronting the Headmaster. However, his hopes had soon died. When researching the punishments associated with such a crime, he had come across more information.

He had found another book, _Laws of Conduct When Dealing with Muggles_. And it was all too clear and plain.

If it was a Muggle, it was okay. Oh no, it was not quite that blunt, of course. There were some cases where wizards had been punished for malicious use of such a spell, but in most cases, especially those involving Muggleborn children, the law was all too willing to turn a blind eye. For the _'Protection'_ of such children, of course. If the parents showed any uncertainty, or especially hostility, such children would be removed from the environment, sometimes even obliviated themselves to make the process _'easier'_. Parents of Muggleborn children were put under magical oath not to speak of magic to any but other magical users, not even allowed to explain to other non-magical children. He could only imagine the pain that caused in many families.

And for what happened to Mr. Steel, it was even more grim. The Headmaster possessed several legal capacities that made him more than authorized to cast the Obliviation Spell. No, Harry had no legal rights here. It was not right, and his heart burned with it. It did not help that a part of him could understand their point of view. He did not want to sympathize or empathize or anything, with the wizards! Not when his heart was breaking over the unfairness of it all.

He slammed the book closed again, throwing it on the pile of books on the floor. The books had come in by owl several days ago. He would put them in his trunk soon, and he was going to stop his study of law for now as well. He knew enough to know that it was not going to be easy to fight an established system. Heaven forbid it came to light to the mundane world that some of its children had been stolen, and many of its inhabitants memories wiped time and time and time again. The uproar from the public would be insane. For all he knew, witch hunts would begin again.

He knew enough already to keep Mr. Steel busy all year, if he ever came into contact with him again.

For now, he was going to change his focus to wand lore. He only had a week before term; he wanted to at least learn some of the basics before class. He imagined most of the other students would do the same, eager to learn the basics of magic. He couldn't wait to meet his classmates, to meet other children from the magical world. He was excited to be learning magic from people who knew what they were doing, to see it in practice instead of reading it in books.

It was going to be awesome.

* * *

Two eyes opening in the dark, verdant.

Sybill tossed and turned and rolled in her dreams. When they were true they were always violent, always bloody, always hot and suffocating and turn turn turn again to get out the madness and the fire and the screams.

She saw the plateau of magic rise and fall, saw the castle crumble to dust. the crowd convened, drove the soul closer, closed him in with despair. Wizards, dark and hungry, circled round and hope was lost.

A phoenix fell to ash and fire and ash again, no feathers rising again from that flame, a cloud of dust that stretched to the stars, covering their shape and blotting out the pale face of the moon.

The sun began to shine through.

Words fumbled from her mouth that she was doomed to hear but never remember. A fragment, a phrase, a part of a whole.

_To burn and rise from ashes..._

When she finally awoke, sunlight lighting up the flecks of dust in its morning light, she calmly placed her thick glasses onto her face, and proceeded to go through the routine she always had known. The routine that kept her sanity as intact as it could be kept, when the future was always beating down her door with things she could never change and only witness, weeping.

Step here, step there, this way leads to doom and that to failure and that to hypocrisy.

When she paused to sit by her tower window, she could only see the flame.

* * *

They simply called themselves Hound. Who first started the movement, the pack, the pact, none were sure. They came from every walk of life, every sex, every race, every nationality. Some were doctors whose patients mysteriously cured themselves, some teachers who prized students disappeared to go to a school that did not exist. Many were government employees who kept forgetting, and forgetting, and forgetting, Law Enforcement whose caught criminals were no longer criminal. So many lost days that made no sense, lost hours and weeks and people and things. Collectors whose collections were gone, bookstore owners whose books were stolen.

None can say when it started. Perhaps last year, or a decade ago, or generations and centuries past. Always, it was sniff sniff sniff, write write write. Follow the trail and record it _damnit_ or you will _bloody_ forget that it even exists and will wake up one day sipping tea and missing the last month of your life. Everywhere across the world, Europe and America and Africa and Australia and Russia and China and on and on and on.

When the Internet became widespread, the options became unlimited. Factions who never spoke suddenly had access to each other, online databases were developed, secret servers backing up prime data. Maps became to be established, documenting black out zones and memory loss instances. A picture was being developed, slowly, painstakingly, the lines being redrawn and erased and redrawn, two steps forward one back but still the plan continued. Rare books and papers were swapped, history documented, obscure facts collected.

Soon, a satellite would be online for their express use. Would wizard magic protect them from space?

And then, a hound in London made the discovery all had been waiting for.

The project was contested, of course, mostly by mothers and fathers who could not see the bigger picture. Tattoos on children? _Large ones?_ Many did not like it, did not approve or participate. That was okay, for many were needed to do other things, typing and networking and researching. Who organized all this? Shadowing figures who gave no names or faces, security measures in place, double and triple measures even, always to protect the collective mind.

A wizard child, their first they could remember collecting. Every day was monitored and closely watched. Some suspected the hound was hiding something, especially with the move to a secluded cottage. Others nodded their heads and acknowledged the intelligence of such relocation. The plan was forged, the child indoctrinated to the best of their ability to be an accidental spy, an eye into the wizarding world, knowing nothing of the true breadth of the projects, of the thousands of people across the globe waiting, waiting.

And then disaster, the hound's memories gone at a time that should've been a triumph. What had gone wrong?

* * *

Mr. Steel leaned back from his computer, sighed, clicked the chat screen open. His book had illuminated many things, but left others in darkness. There were so many holes, gaps. He needed to reach his boys, to see what they could remember. He had left himself hints, clues that were hidden from any other eyes. He had been hiding something, something big, from his superiors. Why he would of done so, he was not sure. It could not simply of been out of love for the boy.

He always strived to not get too attached to his 'children'. He ran them like employees and students, always genial, always caring and giving. He was nice, to a point. But not love. It clouded judgment. It was why he was perfect for this project, this experiment. He could let the normal children go on to their lives.

Something had been different, this time. Why had the wizards taken his memory? Had there been an argument? Was this child special in some way? He looked over the name. Harry Potter. Something was wrong here.

A light blinked on his screen, a message became illuminated.

_Who is Harry Potter?_

He narrowed his eyes, one wrinkled hand resting on his keyboard. The sender was anonymous.

_My ward._

His sent message blinked, went through.

_Who is Harry Potter to the Wizarding World?_

Gerald wanted to scream in frustration. What did they mean? the message dimmed, the anonymous sender going offline. He slammed his hand on the laptop, closing the screen in frustration.

Then he slowly stood up, grabbing his cane.

It was time to meet his boys and get some answers.

* * *

_~To Be Continued: The Train and The Sorting~_

_~Review Please~_


	15. Hogwarts: First Year

_**Author's Note: So, before every chapter now I will include some quick excerpts from my forum post Harry's Runes, in order to refresh people's memories about the runes used in that chapter. That's the plan for now, anyway. It is a bit long. The month of July is my best writing month, and I plan to get Harry's first year finished. *crossed fingers* We will see. The plot will not differ much this first and second year at Hogwarts, but as this Harry makes different choices, the future will change. Also, add in some Hounds... well. **_

_**I've included a forum post in the forum for this story, asking for opinions of Harry's sorting. I would greatly appreciate feedback.**_

_**Once more, this chapter is un-beta'd. I am sorry for any spelling and grammatical mistakes you may find. Its 37 pages long, and hard for me to edit well with so many words in my mind begging to be written down. Hopefully in the future this can be edited and re-posted.  
**_

* * *

**Runic guide for this chapter (more in forums, link on profile):**

_**Ankh: **_**Hieroglyph, Eternal, Life, Rebirth. The start of the blood magic ritual. Holds the magic of other runes in place. Allows magic expended to be returned. Located over the heart. **

_**Mem:**_** Phoenician. Water, or the number thirteen. Protects Harry's mind from outside influence or reading. Located on top of the lightning scar, center of the forehead, and extending above hairline.**

**_Samekh_: Phoenician, Support. Will support Harry's immune system, he will get sick less, be able to go longer, endurance. Repercussions: also augments _Mem_, which it is accidentally linked to (creating a winged defense in Harry's mind, for if the water fails). Located directly above Mem, under the hair.**

_**Kryptos: **_** Greek, Cryptic. Will hide the existence of Harry's runes from those who do not already know of them. People will instead see what they expect to see: whether a lightning bolt scar or not. Located circling around Ankh.**

* * *

"Okay, Girl. You know the address._ Mr. Steel._"

Harry stood in the Astronomy Tower, Hedwig perched on his forearm. He heard phoenix song drifting along the night air, though Fawkes was nowhere to be seen. It gave him the final courage to lift his arm and let the owl off into the night, a single letter clutched in her talons.

* * *

_Mr. Steel,_

_I hope you know the name Harry. I hope you had some way to remember, some way to understand the contents of this message._

_I am well. The wizards treat me kindly, and have given me more freedom than I hoped for. I am now a ward of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, until the time I reach the age of sixteen and inherit my family estate. Then I will be seen as an adult in their eyes, if not in the eyes of Muggle society. _

_I hope you get this letter. I hope my owl, Hedwig, can find you. She will wait for a letter from you, and then return to me. Yes, the owls are real creatures, flesh and bone. They are trained in some way I cannot fathom. Not just any owl will do. A magical breed of sorts, perhaps, with an instinctive ability to find people and places. I will research this. I am not even sure you can see her, though I hope you can. She is beautiful, was a present from a wizard here who loves magical creatures. You would like Hagrid, I think. In any case, if you cannot see her form, leave a rolled up letter lying where this letter was left. I did not tie it to her, not knowing if you could see her, and therefore the letter itself. We probably should not contact each other too frequently. I do not know if the wizards have a way of monitoring owl mail. Maybe this is not a good idea, but I had to know. I hope to spend this year learning much of wizard culture, as you wished. I already know so much more, having access to the school library. I have so many books! Law, and philosophy, and history. You will be so amazed how things are different than we believed._

_Magic is real, Mr. Steel. This is not just some technology hidden from us. It seems to be an actual part of a wizard-born's DNA, something you have or do not have. You should have gotten a blood sample from me after all, got it to a real chemist. I think it would show us many of the answers we seek. As for if this magic can be converted or harnessed by people not possessing the gene, I do not think so. Perhaps a device can be created, or has been created, in which magic is stored for a specific purpose, like invisibility or cooling or even writing. But this would eventually run dry of its power source without being charged by the magical core present in wizard kind._

_I wish I had the space to explain everything. Wizards hid themselves for their own safety, at least according to their own records. Muggles were simply too many, and many wizard kind are not well trained. Well, much like Muggle society. Few of the percentage of the population know how to defend themselves. They decided to hide instead. However, this does not make the crimes they have committed under the excuse of safety any less dire. _

_There is so much I have learned. We need to meet in person, though I am not sure how to pull it off. You cannot come here, if I even knew where here was. Scotland, I know, but it is protected by some of the strongest wizarding wards ever created. You would never get close. I must come to you. I will know more as the months wear on, I will find a way, some way, to do so. Next summer, in between class years. I will find a way._

_I promise._

_-Harry Steel_

* * *

The next morning, September 5th, Harry woke up early. He watched the dawn rise from his window, hands absently running down Dread's emerald feathers. He did not have it in him to sit and read, he was too nervous and excited. Finally, he stood and made sure he had packed everything in his room for the school year. It was all locked in his trunk, and he would unpack it once he picked a bed in his dormitory. He brought Dread's form up to his face, meeting the serpent's eyes.

"_I'm going to take you in, now."_

Dread coiled restlessly, squeezing in arm slightly in its scales. Its wings rustled and then drew in tight against its body. The red crest on its neck rose up as he swayed.

"_Understood, Master. How many... days?"_

The snake was slowly learning the meaning of more human words and ideas; a process rapidly improved every time it joined with Harry's mind and thought his own thoughts. It was hard for Harry though, the process slightly uncomfortable as he too found himself thinking occasionally like the Quetzalcoatl. Most repulsive of all was the time a darting mouse in the hallway actually looked appetizing. A shiver ran down his spine at the memory. He sighed, knowing Dread was getting tired of being trapped inside his body when it would rather be exploring and hunting.

"_Many days. This stone den will be filled with many hatchling wizards, and I must learn to shadow your form so you do not become prey."_

Dread nodded reluctantly, before slithering down his arm and resting his fangs above his wrist. Harry groaned internally, before closing his eyes and sliding into his magic with the ease of practice. Immediately his runes glowed to his sight, and Dread most of all, a living magical form with a piece of his own soul embedded into its body. Harry swam a bit through its thoughts, looked through its eyes, saw his own flesh beneath his body, his fangs poised to strike. He reared back, launching deep into the taunt wrist, sinew and bone rising up to meet him. His magic flooded inside even as the blood flowed out, a transfer he was beginning to find common place.

When he opened his green eyes, he stood still for a moment, finding his center. He felt Dread coiling in his magic around his core, feathered wings almost tickling at the back of his throat. It curled a few times, finding the perfect spot amid the flow of magic, much like a dog..

"_I am not a furry dumb beast!"_

The thought brought a chuckle to his mouth, and he smiled. He then stretched out a bit, getting used to his fingers and toes. Without the magical overload of a ritual, the process was much more uncomfortable, and a lot less natural. Having a serpent inside one's head was never easy either, for Dread had a way of influencing his thoughts.

The sooner he was out and free the better, but he was strangely reluctant to make the feathered snake inanimate completely. It was as if he was taking back the knife's humanity, making it just a silver dagger with no life inside of it. He was sure Dread would be fine as a knife locked into his trunk, but he simply did not want to do so anymore. Dread was a part of him, a vital part.

He needed the Quetzalcoatl.

He sighed, turning his thoughts from that direction and heading from the room. He absently wiped off the blood on his wrist with the sleeve of his black school robe. Black hid blood well, he had found. He slipped down to breakfast, his heart beginning to pound as excitement again flooded his body.

It was hard to make himself eat, anxious to be going. He had been told the day before at lunch that he would be escorted by a professor to the Hogwarts Express loading dock in London, to ride the train to Hogwarts with the other students. He could not wait to see the big scarlet steam engine up close. He had noticed that wizards seemed to adapt some Muggle technologies to their own purpose, but had never really invented anything similar on their own. Did wizards even really understand Muggle engineering? He supposed that would be a question for another day.

Suddenly movement from the entrance drew his attention over towards the door. Professor Snape entered with billowing robes, his expression lit with a scowl. The man always seemed to be either scowling or staring blankly at Harry. It was as if the man couldn't decide whether to hate him or ignore him. The man did not trust him, knew he was hiding something important. Harry was going to have to be careful around him, most of all the people here.

The Professor marched up to him and stopped. Harry felt his heart sink.

"Well, Mr. Potter. It seems_ I _will be escorting you today."

Harry stared blankly, though inside he was cursing. What a way to start his first day of school.

"Well, boy, get up! I do not have time to wait around for you."

Harry jumped up, wiping his hands on the napkin and following behind the professor, who had turned and began marching right back out of the Hall. He walked quickly, trying to keep up with the Professors fast stride. They finally slowed when they reached the edge of the grounds, stepping though the big gate that marked the entrance to the school. Apparently some students rode chariots through here from the train, though Harry had read that first years traditionally went by boat, across the lake. There were three roads leading from the train station, one to the dock at the lake, one to the school, and another to Hogsmeade. Apparently, the Hogwarts Express also catered to the wizarding population there, with weekly trips to London. Why they would need that when most had Floos was beyond Harry. Perhaps the shops had inventory that could not be shipped except by a more mundane method. He had no idea.

The professor abruptly turned toward Harry, his face now blank.

"Have you read about Apparition?"

"Yes, sir."

Harry replied, all excitement now gone. The professor wasn't going to splinch, was he? What about if he lost concentration? Was it harder to bring along more than yourself? His panic must have shown on his face, because the professor's face softened momentarily as he reached out to lay a firm hand on his shoulder.

"No worries, Mr. Potter. I assure you we will arrive all in one piece. Now, prepare yourself."

Harry barely had time to get a breath before the world suddenly lurched away. They were spinning again, though not as violently as the portkey had been. Still, the spinning, floating sensation carried on, and Harry could almost make out a blur of people and buildings and trees streaming by before the world suddenly halted, sending Harry to his knees. He definitely did not like this method of travel either. A stern hand drug him back up again, the professor's voice gruff.

"There you go, Mr. Potter. The Hogwarts Express. Now I expect you to get on it and remain so."

Harry looked up, to see the softness had fled the face, leaving behind only that same neutral blankness. He wondered once again just what the professor had seen in his mind to cause him to act the way he did. Or perhaps it was simply his nature. He thanked Professor Snape, paused for a response but got none, and then turned and walked toward the large steam engine.

The thing was huge, gleaming metal, with cherry red and dark black paint gracing its side. It must have been a bit early, as very few wizard were on the platform, mostly what had to be older students who went straight to the train. Harry followed them, feeling awkward in his school robes while the others were dressed more mundanely. Most of them were also toting trunks and armfuls of books, as well as cats and owls. Harry felt a bit naked. He quickly boarded the train, wandering down the many compartments. Some had students already inside. He kept walking down the train, passing between cars, until he reached the end, which was at the very far end of the train station. It was also the furthest from where many seemed to be entering. Harry picked a compartment facing the station, watching as people slowly trickled in. He pulled out his wand with a flex of his wrist and a tug of his finger, the wand springing out into his palm. He held it against _Heth,_ absently running his fingers up and down it for comfort. He could almost hear Fawkes singing when he did that, his magic recognizing the phoenix feather.

Wizards seemed to enter from three different places. One, where they had come from, must have been reserved for apparition and portkeys. A few came that way, though by far most came from a second area, a huge fireplace with crackling green flame. People spun out of it, some falling and stumbling, others at a hopping run. None stayed idle, quickly moving out of the way. He saw a few near collisions. The other place was what looked like a simple brick pillar. Children came through pushing carts or carrying cages, as if it was perfectly normal to walk through a solid wall. It had to be a portal of some kind, though where it came from he did not know. Quite a few came that way though, so it had to be somewhere busy. Those were the only entrances onto the platform, he noticed. No stairs or doors led away, only a dark tunnel leading away in front of the train. He sighed and leaned back in his seat.

He wondered if anyone would sit with him. Perhaps he had not b been smart, to pick the compartment farthest away. It seemed the others were filling up first, the noise gradually increasing as students filed in. Suddenly voices came closer, questioning. A loud horn echoed through the train, signaling that it would be leaving soon. Then Harry spotted movement in the hallway, and his door began to slide open, a freckled face peaking in. By this time, Harry had been beginning to despair of sitting with anyone. The boy opened the door wider, his posture slightly nervous.

"Hey, you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full."

Harry nodded, watching as the boy drug his trunk in behind him. He had a head full of shocking red hair, combed flat against his head, probably by his mother. His clothes were a bit worn around the edges; his shirt had a few tears. The boy's face was smudged slightly with dirt, leading Harry to think that he must have come through the Floo. He quietly asked as much, only to be shot down with a sideways grin.

"Oh, no, I came through the platform from the Muggle train station. My dad likes to drive his car, he enchanted it to fly! But it has to be cloaked so Muggles can't see. Its really neat, but he won't let me drive it, which is a total bummer. My name is Ron Weasley, what yours?"

Harry followed his quick words, trying to process the information, before hesitating slightly at the question. Well, might as well get it over with. He sat a little straighter.

"I am Harry Potter."

The boys blue eyes widened in his freckled face, his mouth dropping open slightly. Then the boy's eyes darted to his forehead avidly, leaning forward.

"Oh cool, can I see it? You know, _the scar?_"

His face was eager. Harry felt an immediate surge of anger that he tried to tamp down on. Dread hissed in his mind, whispering about rude manners and dirty little hatchlings. Harry tried to suppress it, but his response came out gruff anyway, with more anger in it than he wanted.

"_Absolutely not."_

Ron leaned back with a frown, his own face showing a bit of anger.

"_Whatever,_ okay. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

The boy turned and began to pack his trunk up onto the rack above their heads. The conversation ended awkwardly there, Ron ignoring him as he dug out a sandwich and began to eat. Harry's own stomach rumbled, which made him blush slightly. The boy spared him a glance and was about to speak when the train lurched, its whistle shrilly announcing they were under way. Harry looked out onto the platform to see families waving and cheering, and felt his own heart go heavy. He bet the boys would've loved to see this. He wished they were there, waving. He wished he knew they were okay and doing well. He missed them.

The door suddenly opened again, a plump lady looking in pushing a cart full of candy and food.

"Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Harry eagerly picked out a few things, though Ron shook his head, pointing to his half-eaten sandwich with a forlorn face. Harry shrugged and got a few extra things, before sitting back down. The lady moved on, and Harry hesitantly offered a few pieces of candy to Ron. The boy looked tempted, before shaking his head. He still glanced longingly at the candy, but Harry wasn't sure how to mend the bridge between them that he had already broken with his angry reply. He supposed it wouldn't of been so bad, to show his scar, but he was sensitive about his runes, and did not completely trust his cloaking rune _Kryptos. _He absently reached a hand up to rub the circle around _Ankh_. It would hopefully work as planned, hiding from other his runes unless they already knew of its existence, showing only what they expected to see. Which, in the case of his forehead, would be a lightning bolt scar and nothing else. He sighed.

Suddenly the compartment opened again, this time with a girl opening the door and stepping inside the compartment, looking around fervently, before meeting their eyes. Her hair was brown and bushy, as she stood confidently with brown eyes to match her mouse brown hair.

"Have you guys seen a toad? Neville lost his."

As the boys began to shake their heads, her eyes lit on Harry's wand that was still clutched in his left hand. Her eyes brightened and she sat with excitement next to him.

"Oh, are you going to do a spell? I've practiced, of course, and read all the school books, but they do not all work for me. I cannot_ wait_ to see the teachers do it. My name is Hermione Granger, by the way."

Harry smiled with excitement, nodding his head enthusiastically.

"I know! I mean, _no_, I'm not doing a spell, I actually haven't practiced those in the school books, but I cannot wait to learn them in class. I mean, transfiguration sounds so neat, doesn't it?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes bright.

"I think my favorite is going to be charms, I was reading the book and a lot of the beginning is about theory, but it says we will start with the Levitation charm, which I think would be ever so useful, and..."

A cough interrupted them, Ron looking slightly superior.

"Well, I know a spell."

They both looked at him as he smirked and pulled out a squirming rat, which looked like the thing it wanted least in the world was for a spell to be cast on it. Ron cleared his throat imperiously.

"My brothers taught me this spell, for when I get to school. _Ahem._ Sunshine, Daisies, Butter Mellow, _Turn this stupid fat rat yellow!_"

A speck of light flung from his wand, knocking the squealing rat to the floor, where it rapidly climbed up the cushion to disappear into Ron's bags. The boy turned bright red with embarrassment. The rat had most definitely not turned yellow. Hermione giggled a bit, and Harry followed along, which only made Ron turn redder with anger more than embarrassment.

"That doesn't sound like a spell."

Hermione spoke, her tone a bit snooty. Harry grinned despite himself, though he felt kind of bad for the boy. It sounded like his brothers had played a bad prank on the fellow. He turned to Hermione.

"Most spells are in Latin here, though some other countries use other languages. Most are ancient languages, however, so that spells are not cast by accident supposedly. That's why it sounded weird. It must have been a prank."

He nodded towards Ron, trying to take up for him a bit. Instead, the boy just glared at him. Hermione nodded, then suddenly stood, looking a bit startled.

"Oh! I almost forgot, I've got to help Neville find his toad. Well, I'll see you at the feast."

Harry nodded, then quickly spoke as the girl was about to leave.

"My name is Harry Potter."

The girl turned. Harry waited for her eyes to flicker up, but they met his straight on with an interested look.

"Are you really? I've read all about you, of course, though I doubt the stories could all be true. Have you truly defeated a hag?"

Harry looked nonplussed, his eyes wide as he denied it. Hermione nodded to herself.

"Yeah, thought so. Sounded neat though. I figured you would be in our year. Well, anyway, I'll see you soon, Harry!"

And with that, she flounced from the room, shutting the door with a quiet snick and continued up the train. Harry leaned back, a smile growing on his face. He might have just made a friend. He brought his head around as Ron began to snicker.

"Wow, she sure is a loud mouth. I think she barely let you get a word in."

Harry scowled, and Ron swallowed, before letting out a fake laugh and turning to the window, idly commenting on the scenery passing by.

Harry sighed again. What was wrong with him? He usually did not take offense so easily. He looked down at his wand, and then slowly put it back up the sleeve of his robe, hooking the leather thong around it. He did not know how long this train ride was going to take. Now he wished he had his trunk with him, so he could at least have a book to read. He had hoped to be talking the whole way, but now his only companion was as silent as a mouse. Maybe he wasn't very good at this making friends thing. Maybe he should go find Hermione, help her find this Neville's toad. Be useful.

He had just made up his mind to leave when the door again opened. It seemed several students were moving about the train, peeking in on fellow friends and classmates. This time, a familiar blond face peeked in. Harry felt himself smiling with relief.

"Draco!"

The boy looked taken aback for a moment, before a tentative smile lit his face.

"Hello, Harry."

Draco said, regaining his confidence. Harry gestured to the seat beside him in a silent offer, and the boy took it slowly, eyeing Ron across the bench. Harry turned to Ron, about to introduce them, only to be met with an outright evil stare. The red head was glaring at the two of them, his lip twisted. Any remaining goodwill was gone. Harry wasn't sure what he had done wrong until Ron spoke, his tone angry.

"Malfoy! I didn't say you could sit in here!"

Draco smirked, sitting up straighter before gesturing towards Harry.

"Harry invited me in, didn't you see? Or are you telling him what to do, as well?"

Harry felt Dread grumble inside him, hissing about bossy rats, a longing note in its voice. Harry forced himself not to look towards where the rat had disappeared in the boys bag, instead simply frowning. He did not like where this was heading. Ron spoke again, this time glaring at him.

"So, you friends with a slimy _Malfoy_, Potter? Figured you would have better taste than that!"

Draco glared back, speaking before Harry could answer.

"Slimy, huh? I don't have to ask who you are. Hand-me-down robes, bad manner, red hair... you are a _Weasley."_

Ron huffed, his face turning red and his fists clenching tight. Draco turned toward Harry before standing. He met Harry's eyes with his pale grey ones.

"Come on, Harry. You can come to my compartment. You don't have to stay here with _Weasley_."

Harry felt torn. He hated to be in the middle of what must obviously be a long-standing feud, and hated even more to have anyone angry with him. Then again, the boy had been insulting from the start, pushy, and rude. Dread hissed his approval as Harry stood, nodding. Weasley suddenly paled.

"No, Harry, don't go with him. Malfoys are _dark_."

Ron put emphases on the last word, and that sealed Harry's mind. His own magic runes would be labeled as dark, if not outright illegal, and to him they were nothing if not the purest of magic. Who was this boy to say what was dark and what was not? Harry stared Ron down, meeting his eyes until the redhead looked away. Harry turned and smiled at Draco, gathering up what was left of the candy he had purchased from the trolley. He nodded to Draco again.

"Lead the way."

"Your trunk?" Draco questioned, looking around the compartment.

"Its not here." Harry said, avoiding the question. Draco nodded, though his face was still confused. The boy hid it quickly though, not questioning. Harry approved. It was nice not to have someone assume someone was required to explain themselves about everything.

The boy led them forward several boxes, weaving around the other students who were visiting friends. Friends. Could Draco be his first one here? Harry followed Draco until the boy stopped right before a compartment. The blond turned to him, eyeing his school robes before looking him in the face. He hesitated, before nodding to himself and speaking.

"Do you know proper protocol?"

Harry felt slightly confused, before he thought back to a few books he had skimmed through with Mr. Steel. Books of proper manners and etiquette in the wizarding world. Harry hummed in thought, before speaking solemnly. This was obviously important to Draco, enough so for him to ask him.

"Very little. I believe one introduces oneself politely, but that is all. I read a book on it once, but never truly thought about needing to know it."

Draco frowned slightly, a worried look in his eyes.

"Well, someone generally only uses first names if the person being spoken to is considered to be a personal friend. Otherwise, it is an insult. So, last names only. These kind of things are important to purebloods, everyone knowing their proper place. It was the way we survived, during the Great Battles. A misunderstanding could get whole families killed. You always had to know where you stood."

Harry nodded absently, his mind stuck on the first part. Finally he asked hesitantly.

"So, are we friends?"

Draco smiled; the first true one Harry had seen that did not have a smirking quality to it. It lit up his face and made him seem infinitely more childlike, the stuck up boy nowhere to be found.

"Yes, Harry. We are friends."

The blond held out a hand, which Harry took and shook with a silent smile. Draco turned and gestured Harry to follow him. Harry paused slightly, nervous, before following. Apparently to some wizards, even the children, making a good impression was imperative. These must be the richer kids, those born into wizarding families.

When Harry entered the compartment, two boys turned to look at him. Draco sat silently, his own eyes looking at Harry. Harry cleared his throat and stood straighter, introducing himself.

"Hi. I'm Harry Potter."

Both boys eyed him, and Harry could almost physically feel them making judgments about him. He fought not to let himself fidget, instead he thought of Dread, the snake's sibilant hissing a backdrop in his mind. He felt himself sway just the tiniest bit to the left and right, a move that could be mistaken for the shaking of the train. The thin boy on the left might have fallen for it, but the one on the right narrowed his eyes at him. It was he who spoke first, sitting next to Draco.

"My name is Blaise Zabini."

Zabini had dark skin with narrow, slanted eyes, giving off a chilly appearance. He was the one who had paused longest looking at Harry's clothes, as if to see how high a quality they were. He also immediately turned away after the introduction, looking out the window as if Harry had disappeared. The other boy spoke up, his voice only slightly more friendly.

"I am Theodore Nott."

Nott was tall and thin, his cheekbones high on his face. It gave him a slightly emaciated look, one not helped by the sallow tint to his skin. If anything, he reminded Harry slightly of Professor Snape. Perhaps, knowing pureblood wizards, the two were related. He stopped himself just before he asked, afraid suddenly that the question might offend the boy. He had no idea if the Potions Professor was pureblooded or not, had merely assumed so as he was the head of a house known for Pureblood Supremacy. But perhaps he was not. Harry sat next to Nott, looking desperately at Draco. What was he supposed to talk about? He did not want to embarrass himself, or his new friend. They still had at least an hour left before they reached Hogwarts, however.

Finally, Draco spoke, his tone confidant though his eyes seemed to say otherwise.

"So, what do you think about the new Quidditch champions?"

This started off a conversation that consisted mostly of Nott and Draco, the two exchanging favorite teams and plays while Zabini sat looking out the window and Harry felt a little lost. Draco suddenly turned to him questioning, and Harry sat up straighter, his eyes refocusing. He had no idea what the boy had just asked him. Nott let out a scoffing laugh.

"Daydreaming, _Potter?_"

Harry felt a flush begin to spread over his face, before Dread hissed again in his thoughts, anger tightening his face, causing the blush to fade to pale. Dread did not abode with feelings like embarrassment, preferring a more direct response to attack, no matter how small.

"_Should I bite him, Master? Taste the flesh?"_

Harry mentally scolded him, though something must have shown in his eyes briefly, because Nott's laugh choked off.

"Well, _of course,_ not everyone finds Quidditch interesting."

Zabini spoke, and Harry saw that the boy's eyes were once more fixed on his, assessing. Harry tried a tentative smile, speaking softly, controlling his anger and shoving it back.

"I have never seen a game, though I know how it is played."

Harry reiterated what he had told Draco in _Madam Malkin's,_ also remembering the excuse he had used. He did not want to lose face in front of the new classmates, but he also did not want to lie.

He had to find a position of strength.

Nott smirked, the smile tugging at one corner of his pale face. A flicker of resentment shimmered through Harry, though he tamped it back down. Nott spoke.

"Don't get out much, I suppose."

Harry simply nodded, his jaw clenching. Nott turned away with a grunt at the lack of response. The boy must be trying to get my goat, Harry grumbled to himself. Draco did not look too happy either, probably hoping that Harry would get along with his friends and seeing that fail. He wanted to slump in his seat, or leave.

"_You are not weak, Master, to run from such toothless prey. We could eat them, I can tell, easily. Though that skinny one looks to be all bone and no meat."_

Harry almost choked at Dread's mental hiss, and managed to bite back a laugh. His expression must have given him away however, because Nott was now looking at him with narrowed eyes.

"Something funny?"

Harry started to shake his head, before pausing, gaining confidence from the Quetzalcoatl. He narrowed his own eyes back at Nott, and spoke softly, his voice with an almost sibilant quality. Zabini's eyes were fixed on him, assessing.

"I don't know, _Nott,_ is there something funny?"

Nott's face flushed, the boys eyes trying to stare him down, before finally looking away with a grunt. Harry felt a flare of triumph at having silenced the confrontational boy. He looked over at Draco with a neutral look, ignoring Zabini's fascinated look. He decided now would be a good time to ask Draco some questions he has been wondering about.

"Draco, I do not have much experience with pureblood society. Would you mind if I asked you some questions."

Draco nodded eagerly, as Zabini continued to stare and Nott looked out the window silently. Harry considered how to word his first question. Finally, he decided to throw caution to the wind and simply come right out and say what he was sure the others already knew.

"I am a half-blood. Why are pure-bloods considered better than myself?"

Draco looked absolutely flabbergasted, looked desperately towards the other two boys, his face pale. Zabini snorted, before breaking into laughter. Nott cracked a smirk of his own, though he still did not look in Harry's direction. Draco opened and closed his mouth, before leaning back in his chair. He looked uncertain, probably deciding how to answer such a question without losing Harry's friendship. Finally Harry spoke again, conciliatory.

"What I mean to say is, is there a difference in the magical power and intelligence of those whose parents are both wizards? Or have a history of a wizard lineage?"

Draco licked his lips, betraying nervousness, before finally speaking after Zabini elbowed him. He cleared his throat, and then stopped again. Zabini rolled his eyes and spoke instead.

"There has never been real research done on power levels themselves, though everyone knows that Purebloods hold the most influential positions in society, like Draco's father, in part because their families have amassed gold over time to spend in certain... _investments..._ and to run election campaigns. Not all pureblood families are well off, however. My own line never possessed those assets, though recently we have made some good investments of our own."

"In men!" Nott snorted under his breath, only to again look away as Zabini glared at him. The boy then turned back to Harry, his voice having a new, hard edge to it.

"In school, it is the purebloods who are top of the class, who learn spells faster and cast them with more power. That evidence would show that they are more powerful. However, that does not account for the occasional Muggleborns who show potential, sometimes even beating out the purebloods in a class. What purebloods have that those born to Muggles do not, is a supportive magical family and background, and knowledge of magic that they are born with, grow up with. An experience around it, a feeling for it. In my opinion, for Muggleborn to show real potential, they need to be taken from their family at an early age, and given to wizarding families who can expose them to magic much earlier. That would equal the playing field."

"_Ha!"_ Nott burst out, his face screwed up in distaste. "You and your progressive views, Zabini. Everyone knows it's the blood that tells. Mudbloods are dirty, their magic is not _pure. _They can never be as good as purebloods, can never be as strong. Their magic has not been passed down through generations of wizards, has not been shaped by ritual and tradition. They can never be as good as us. We should simply never allow them in our society!"

At this, Nott glanced at Harry, his sneer making him look dark and angry. And gloating. Harry almost hissed at him. Nott was trying to say his magic was inferior, his blood worth less. He clenched his fist, was about to angrily retort when Zabini beat him to it.

"Where would we be without them, Nott? A dying breed, that's what we are! How many squibs were born into your family, huh? How many magical kids your parents have? My mother only had one; Malfoy here is an only son. The Greengrass's managed to have two daughters. Parkinson's, one. Bulstrodes, Crabbe's, Longbottom's, all one. Where are we going as a society? Useless traditions that mean nothing. Our magic may be more powerful, but our children are few and far between. And just look what that_ blood-purity war _did to decimate the potential of our generation! We need new blood. Half-blood families generally have two and three children. I know Muggleborn's usually are only solitary in their own families, but their children are many, even four or five! What would happen if we turned them away?"

Zabini said the last forcefully, his eyes animated. Nott sneered back, his face angry. Draco looked like he did not know what to say. Nott growled out his response, fists clenched.

"It's those stupid Mudbloods and their ideals that are polluting our society! With their modern ideas and feelings, making our women feel less like women, wanting_ love _and _work._ They make them unhappy! Stealing our magic! Their very magic is a_ poison!_"

"You have no_ evidence..!_"

Zabini shot back, and now they were both standing, their eyes furious inches from each other. Nott snarled out in a low voice.

"If I didn't know better, _Zabini,_ I would say you were one yourself. Maybe your _voracious _mother had some on the_ side.._.."

Harry knew as soon as Nott started that blood was about to be spilled. Zabini howled in anger, launching himself at the other boy. Nott was ready, smirking, stepping to the side and shoving the other boy into the seat. He then grabbed his trunk in one hand, jerking it down from the overhead compartment. Harry hurriedly leaned to the side to avoid getting bumped, while Draco held back Zabini from trying to throw another punch. Nott sneered at them all, before looking at Harry last.

"Potter, you will learn that some families are better than others. Mine will never taint itself with muddy blood or magic. _No matter how diluted_."

This was a pointed remark to Harry himself, one that made Harry's blood boil. He found himself standing, meeting the other straight on. He held out his palm, fixing his eyes on Nott even as the other boy's eyes darted down to his open hand. Harry reached in his pocket, and drew out an empty quill he had been practicing with that morning, holding the sharp point of the metal against his skin. He drew it across, slowly, not flinching at the slow burning pain, knowing without looking that the blood was beginning to slowly spill forth, like mercury released from a vial, a slow spreading scarlet across his palm. And with the blood came his magic, a rising cloak that darkened the compartment, dimmed the lights, made his eyes gleam in the low light. An oppressive weight that hooked to his shoulders, and he saw Nott's wide eyes show fear, his breath beginning to come faster as he struggled to draw in the heavy air. The boy's shoulders slumped at the weight, a low whine in his throat. Harry spoke, hisses echoing in his voice, as if another voice spoke behind his, one that hissed and slithered and coiled, fangs extended.

"_Tell me again my blood is worth less than yours."_

Nott opened his mouth but no sound came out. Harry abruptly stopped cutting and reined in his magic sharply, a sudden haul that sent the other boy stumbling back against the door, his trunk dropping from his limp hand. Nott's own magic screamed fear in Harry's sight, cowardice and terror. Harry knew the other boy was smart, probably smarter than Draco and Zabini both, to manipulate them so easily. But he was also a yellow-bellied little boy, one who did not compete if he thought he would lose, who preferred to follow rather than lead. Nott slowly reached down to grab his trunk, reaching behind him to open the door as he back out of the room. His eyes did not meet Harry's, his magic still drawn in tight with fear. He closed the door with a soft click, and Harry heard his quick footsteps fade away.

Harry felt his shoulders slump, not because he was tired, but because this was the second child he had run off. First Ron, who was rude and ignorant, and now Nott, who was rude and manipulative. Both were opinionated and set in their ways. Not that he thought Draco and Zabini were perfect, heaven knows he disagreed with them already on a million things.

Harry turned and sat, not looking at the other boys as he set the quill on his lap and reached in his pocket to pull out the black goblin handkerchief he had been given in the bank. The house elves had cleaned it, and now the golden Gringotts logo once more shone from where it was sown into the cloth. _Fortius Quo Fidelius_ read underneath the key. Latin, _Strength Through Loyalty_. He reluctantly dirtied it once more, first wiping the blood from his palm and then from the quill. He put the quill back into his pocket, but left the handkerchief balled in his palm, putting pressure on the small cut. It was small, nothing much really, but its willing placement over _Heth_ had caused its magical outlet to seem much more powerful than normal. Much like cutting a normal wizard above an artery close to the heart, where most wizard's magic originated. For Harry, this could also be accessed over any rune, as each was hooked back to his core. He sighed, already regretting his outburst. He was afraid to look over at Zabini and see his reaction.

He heard a throat hesitantly clear, and finally looked up to meet soft grey eyes. Draco smiled nervously, and cleared his throat again. Zabini suddenly spoke from next to him, where he must have regained his seat after being pushed down.

"I'm going to think you're a toad if you keep croaking, Draco."

Draco flushed, and then cleared his throat again to speak, making Zabini laugh and Harry smile, his spirits lifting a bit. Draco shot Zabini a glare before he spoke.

"Well, then. Well. So, I think we might need to put our robes on, trains getting close to the station. Well, we do, you've got yours on."

Draco gestured vaguely towards Harry. Zabini rolled his eyes, before locking them onto Harry.

"I'll say what Draco won't. That was bloody brilliant, Harry."

Harry felt himself smiling, at the use of his name as much as the complement. Zabini, no, Blaise, was extending a hand of friendship, pureblood style. He would be a fool not to accept it. Harry thanked him, his voice still quiet.

"Thanks, Blaise."

Blaise smiled, before the two boys began to pull down their trunks and get out their robes, slinging them on. About that time a whistle sounded and the train began to slow. Excited voices rose throughout the train, and Harry looked eagerly out the window. He could just see a tower peeking above the trees before they descended more into the forest. Harry smiled in excitement.

* * *

Before they knew it the station came into sight and they began to file into the corridor with all the others, a cram of bodies. A, older, loud voice directed them from down the hallway; "First Years, leave your luggage in the compartment, it will be brought down later!" and Harry saw Draco furtively push his trunk back into the room, sharing a grin with Blaise. The three then headed down the hall as the train stopped completely. The stepped off into a large long wooden platform amid the other students just as a booming familiar voice spoke up from the end.

"Firs' Years! Firs' Years over here!"

It was Hagrid, standing far above the tiny students, looking larger than ever. Harry eagerly walked forward to greet him as Draco and Blaise hung back at the edge of the group.

"Hi, Hagrid!"

Hagrid smiled at him and greeted him, before once more calling out in a large voice. By this time the older students had congregated at the far side, about to get into some sort of carriage that Harry couldn't quite see from his side of the platform. That road would lead up to the castle through the main gate. Hagrid, seeing that he had all the students, then gestured for them to follow him in the opposite direction, down a short winding path through the woods that suddenly opened up to a great lake that lay at the foot of a large grand castle, alit with magic. Harry felt his breath catch at the view. Hogwarts. She looked beautiful in the night from this distance, full of mystery and magic.

Harry looked around for Draco but had lost him in the push towards the tiny boats at the edge of the shore. Hagrid called out directions, and Harry suddenly found himself next to Hermione, who he greeted excitedly. The girl was practically jumping in excitement, her bushy hair bouncing with each step. She eagerly gestured Harry to a boat, and just as Harry climbed in a plump boy followed him shyly, not meeting their eyes but looking forlornly around as if lost. Another red haired girl climbed in after him, her eyes locked on the castle with fascination.

As soon as they were settled the boats began to drift off. Harry glanced around and finally caught a glimpse of Draco and Blaise sitting with two girls several boats away. He waved, and Draco waved back slightly. He then turned to Hermione, smiling.

"It's nice to see you again."

Hermione smiled, her grin wide. She then turned to the other boy, gesturing toward him.

"Nice to see you too! This here is Neville Longbottom, he's the one who lost his toad. We still haven't found it, actually."

The boy moaned, pulling his hair in frustration.

"Oh, Trevor! I can't believe I lost you!"

Harry remembered the name Longbottom in Blaise's rant, and realized this must be another pureblood child. He asked about the toad hesitantly.

"How did... Trevor... get away?"

Neville looked up, his blue eyes teary. "He's a magical toad, you see, and he is ever so curious! I think he's always on the lookout for the next best bug, you know what I mean? He just teleports away sometimes, and usually it's okay but I'm afraid he's gotten lost and won't know how to get to me. And if he 'ports back home, he will have to be owled here, and that makes him so sick and sick toads are, well, not the best thing to live with. And he might even get eaten! Owls love toad, you know!"

The boy mumbled off the last, his voice forlorn. Harry tried not to gawk. A magical toad? Who teleports? That wasn't something he had seen in the pet store, but then again, he had got the impression that toads were kind of going out of style. Though, there was some sort of singing toad chorus listed on the Hogwarts Club List, so there must be at least a few students with them. Harry wasn't sure what to say, so he softly mentioned his own owl, Hedwig, offering her if the toad needed to be sent in the mail.

"Hedwig is really well-mannered, and she would never eat a toad. And she has a wonderful, soft flight. I bet Trevor wouldn't mind at all."

Neville, nodded, brightening up a bit, though he still looked at his hands in misery. Harry looked towards the other girl inquiringly. She shyly smiled at them, her robes immaculate and her brown eyes glancing again and again at the magnificent castle they were drifting closer to.

"Hi. I'm Susan Bones."

Hermione spoke up again, introducing herself. Harry hesitantly introduced himself, bracing for the reaction. She did not disappoint. Her eyes suddenly whipped around to him, now fascinated with him. They seemed to be trying to see through his hair to the scar hidden underneath.

Harry kept the scowl off his face as she began to talk, her shyness lost in excitement.

"Are you really? _Harry Potter! _My Aunt told me you would be here this year; she works in the Ministry and knows all about you. She told me you've been with secret relatives this whole time, and no one but Dumbledore knew where because Dumbledore is your magical guardian, you know, because you are a wizard and famous and all, and..."

Hermione smoothly interrupted the girl, sending a sympathetic glance Harry's way.

"Hey Susan, don't you just love the castle? I read..."

Hermione then began to list random facts pulled straight from _Hogwarts, A History_. Susan listened politely, but her eyes kept glancing towards him. Harry ignored her, sitting beside the mumbling Neville who was still lost in his misery. Harry wasn't even sure the boy had heard the introductions. He focused on the castle as it grew closer, then closed his eyes and felt out with his senses, mentally tasting the magic that wafted from it in gigantic waves. Walking its halls was sometimes like swimming in a sea of magic, but outside it was like standing beside one, the waves rolling and cresting against the shore. The shore here being a huge dome that extended miles around the castle and the lake. It was the wards for the school, something he had only ever seen before from the air. Here on the lake their view was awesome and huge and magnificent. He opened his eyes, realizing they were almost there. The boats pulled up to a dock inside a tunnel at the base of the castle, and all the students jumped out in excitement. Harry was near the middle of the group as they ascended the stairs and went down a hallway, finally coming up on Professor McGonagall waiting before the entrance to the Great Hall.

A croak sounded from a hallway to their side, and a excited Neville pushed his way through the students with a loud cry of _"Trevor!"._ Harry was glad the boy had found his pet, and also that he wouldn't have to explain to Hedwig that he had volunteered her for a slow flight carrying a huge toad. Professor McGonagall cleared her throat for their attention, bringing their heads around. The witch was wearing emerald green robes with a large pointed hat. Harry had not seen her that dressed up since she came with the professors to retrieve him. At that reminder Harry scowled a bit, only for Hermione to nudge him in the side with an open look on her face. Harry shook his head and listened as McGonagall began to speak.

"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Tonight is the Sorting Ceremony, where each and every one of you will be sorted into the House where you are most suited. The Sorting is very important, as it decides where you will sleep, who you will be living with, who you will attend classes with, and what House Teams you are allowed to join."

At this she paused, glancing them all over. Harry caught sight of Draco smirking next to two boys who looked to be several grades higher, standing much taller and more muscular than those they were next to. Harry frowned, before looking back at McGonagall as she continued speaking.

"The four Houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has a noble history and each has seen outstanding witches and wizards pass through its House. While at Hogwarts, every good point you receive will earn you House points, and each punishment lose your House points, to compete in the year-long House Cup Competition. There will also be smaller competitions for second-years and up to compete in, such as Academia, Quidditch, and Dueling. You are welcome to watch such sports take place and cheer for your House Teams. I am sure you will all be a credit to the House that welcomes you."

Once more the Professor looked them all over. Harry was a bit of the mind that that last sentence was something of a threat. The others must have got that vibe too, for many shifted and looked down guiltily, as if they had already broken the rules. Finally, the Professor told them the ceremony would start soon and she walked off towards the Great Hall. Harry looked around at all the others, watching as conversation broke out loudly, people speculating about what kind of test the Sorting would have, some even mentioning Trolls and written exams. Harry wrinkled his nose in amusement, sure that they would all be relieved to know it was just a silly old hat. Hermione nudged him on the left as screams broke out on the side of the group.

Several ghosts had filed in, in the midst of an argument about a wayward poltergeist named Peeves. Harry had already had the misfortune to meet the fellow, and so found himself nodding agreement as Sir Nicholas (who possessed the most unfortunate nickname of Nearly Headless Nick) told the Friar that Peeves deserved to be kicked from the school. Hermione gawked, mumbling under her breath about ghosts and why they were corporeal. It sounded almost like a prayer. He turned to her and spoke softly.

"It's alright, they are great once you get to know them. I mean, most of them are."

Hermione looked at him, eyes wide.

"Have you met them before? How?"

Harry fidgeted, before speaking with a sigh.

"Yeah. Well, I'm kind of a ward of the school. Well, starting this summer. I've been here about a month. They took me to ride the train in so I wouldn't feel left out. You know."

Hermione nodded, though she looked surprised. Also a flicker of jealousy shone from her eyes. She spoke enviously.

"I bet you just love having access to the library all summer! What I wouldn't give..."

She drifted off, blushing. Harry laughed and smirked.

"Well, that's the best part, I have to say!"

Hermione laughed along with him. Then she asked him, her voice low.

"So you know what the Sorting Ceremony is?"

Harry grinned.

"Yep!"

Hermione frowned, nudging him.

"Tell me!"

Harry laughed again, shoving her back.

"I promised the Headmaster I wouldn't tell."

Hermione looked at him eagerly, her eyes a light.

"You've met Headmaster Dumbledore? Oh, of course you have! Oh, I have so many questions!"

Just as Hermione must have been about to launch into those very questions, Professor McGonagall returned with a clearing of her throat. She directed them to form a line and gestured her wand towards the great doors, sending them the signal to open. Harry saw the light sail forth, merge with the engrained metal and wood, and send a signal almost like watching a key turn a lock. The doors opened slowly, massive and heavy, dragging across the ground with a grumbling sound. All Harry's summer long those doors had remained open. He figured perhaps that they were only closed for this very ceremony. But why would such doors need to lock at all? His mind was turned from the puzzle by the gasps of awe when the students saw the ceiling. Hermione muttered about reading about the charms made to make such a sight. Harry smiled fondly, his heart warming. Already this place was beginning to feel like home, and he felt an almost ownership of the place. As if, by being here in the summer, he was someone special.

The others had finally gotten a glimpse of the old battered hat from the Headmasters office. It sat on a small stool at the front of the Hall, right before the Staff table. All the staff sat there, many of whom he had not met. The tables were already set, empty dishes laid out in neat rows. Empty seats were at the end of the four great tables that had been laid out. It was much different from when Harry had eaten there in the summer, when just one table was laid out and those Staff who wished had joined him for meals. Suddenly a loud song burst out form in front of him, and he whipped is head around to see in awe that it was the battered hat. It sang in a gruff voice, much like he would have imagined it would.

It sang about its function, to sort them all, and about how nothing could be hidden from its sight. It then described each House in turn. Finally it ended its song with a pointed bow in the direction of each House, and was thanked with thunderous applause. Harry was relieved he wouldn't have to worry about hiding any of his secrets from the device. Mr. Steel was more right than he knew, to know that hiding Harry's mind was imperative.

Professor McGonagall pulled out a long list and began to read off names in alphabetical order. Each one was to sit on the stool, have the hat placed on their head, and be sorted. Many were sorted in a mere moment; others took perhaps a minute or so. After each House was called out, the respective House applauded, some lazily, others with much more enthusiasm.

McGonagall soon called out for Susan Bones, whom Harry had ridden with on the ride over, to come up. She was rapidly placed in Hufflepuff to the girl's apparent delight, something Harry recognized with relief. They hadn't gotten along very well in the boat. The Gryffindors appeared to be in a competition with Hufflepuff to see who could applaud the loudest, and with the help of two twin red-heads that looked similar to Ron, were definitely succeeding. Harry felt his heart warm; glad he was going to such a friendly looking place. Suddenly McGonagall called out, "Granger, Hermione!" And Hermione dashed up with an eager look on her face. The hat was placed on her head, and a loud _"GRYFFINDOR!"_ burst out from the brim of the hat. Hermione's face beamed at him, her steps light as she skipped to her new table. Those sitting next to her welcomed her animatedly. Harry smiled; glad he would be with his new friend.

When Neville finally skulked up there, tripping on the stairs and still holding his toad, the hat took its sweet time to sort him. People had just begun to get restless when the hat finally placed him in Gryffindor. Harry tried to smile and wave at the shy boy, but he kept his head down, forgetting to even take off the hat. Professor McGonagall swiped it off his head at the last moment, causing gales of laughter to come from the school. The boy's face flushed an ever brighter shade of red. Harry just shook his head. Then suddenly Draco's name was called, and Harry paid more attention, watching as the blonde swaggered past him with a smirk.

The confidant boy had barely sat down when the hat scream _"SLYTHERIN!"_ at the top of its lungs. Harry didn't even think the hat had touched his hair! He smiled and waved as Draco headed toward his table, receiving a nod in return. Perhaps it was not cool to wave, Harry reflected after he had passed. Nott soon joined Draco in Slytherin, a fact which did not surprise Harry at all. It would figure the boy would do so, with his opinions and family. Nothing less than Slytherin would do. Suddenly the names were getting into the Ps and Harry stood straighter, nervous.

"Potter, Harry!"

McGonagall suddenly called out, and the Hall went silent, everyone craning forward for a look. Harry tried not to hunch as he walked toward the hat. This was going to be simple, easy, _Gryffindor_, done. He swallowed and sat on the bench, closing his eyes just as McGonagall placed the hat on his head.

He felt the hat move on his head, a humming noise emanated slightly from its brim. He swallowed, opening up his magical sight like he had done on the ride to the castle. Light shone from all sides, from all the wizards and witches, from the walls, the wands, the plates and silverware, and closest of all, from the very hat that sat on his head. He reached out slightly as he had done with his wand, carefully touching a sliver of his magic to that hovering in the leathery old hat.

And suddenly the magic reached back, like a hand grabbing his, and a voice boomed in his head, cheery, old, a little rough around the edges.

"_Finally! I wondered if there was a soul swimming around in that ocean of a mind. About to get sea-sick, I was, all that rolling and splashing and howling. I almost felt wet! Almost made me give in and put you where I was told to put you, a matter I was most unpleased with, let me tell you! Why, I never, being told not to sort a child, but to _place_ them. Most unprofessional!"_

The hat rambled. Harry felt panic light up inside him.

"_You can read my mind!?"_

He questioned, mind in a panic. The hat spoke up, voice chiding.

"_Whoa there, calm down before I lose you. I don't think a mermaid could read your sea of thought, child, none-the-less an old hat like me. Your mind, as you put it, is very well and safe. It's a good thing that's not the only thing I need to sort you, as some wizards seem to be under the impression."_

Harry felt his eyes widen behind the brim, surprised.

"_What do you mean? I was told I could not be sorted, that you read the mind of us to tell where we were most likely to go."_

"_Well, I do, of course, read minds. Thoughts tell a lot about a student in the now, the immediate, who they are. But their magic, now, that's another story. It tells who they will be, who their soul aligns with. It's the magic that speaks the truth, now, though of course, it is never as simple as that."_

Suddenly another pressure was put on his mind, Dread hissing in agitation.

"_Who is this filthy voice, this prey-thing, slithering in where it does not belong. Out!"_

Harry tried to calm the snake, though it only backed off a little, mental tongue tasting the magical signature of the hat. The hat was silent for a moment, leading Harry to wonder if it had indeed been forced out, but then it spoke.

"_Most interesting indeed, Mr. Potter, your magic is very interesting indeed! Haven't heard two voices inside a head in quite a while, let me tell you. I love my job, always seeing new thoughts, though it would be nice to get out every once in a while. Gryffindor used to wear me outside a lot, you know."_

Harry heard a low murmur starting up, and began to wonder how long he had been sitting here under the hat. He growled for the hat to hurry up and put him in Gryffindor so he could get off the stool and eat. The hat growled right back.

"_I'll take my sweet time, boy, my own sweet time. Sorting is serious business! And you, you are unique in more than one way, I can tell. Your magic is wide open, already following another path. Haven't seen such a thing in many, many generations. Always such people were intelligent, creatures of Ravenclaw. They knew the power of study, the intelligence required to amass power. You would not be as far as you are, would not be alive, without that intelligence. Of course, it took an unhealthy dose of bravery to even step onto such a path, and so Gryffindor would be proud of your lion heart. I would know, I was his hat. Stupid brave, Hufflepuff called it. And dear Helga would've loved you, your loyalty, oh yes; I can see it here, in your magic, a light that cannot be quenched. You would do well in Hufflepuff."_

Harry began to panic, feeling events spiraling outside his control. He thought rapidly of some way to convince the hat to not put him there. Before he could speak, the hat rambled on, talking mostly to itself but to him as well. Speaking fast, as if it knew that Harry would argue, as if Harry perhaps did have some choice but it wasn't going to give him the chance to use it.

"_Of course, Loyalty might be your drive; still, I can see here something else. No, you are on a quest, are you not? Your magic yearns, it does, I can see it, its light so bright under my hat. Can they see it too, I wonder? Stars, a moon, something close to a sun, maybe, and soon, oh yes, soon..."_

The hat rambled on and on, Harry trying to follow but lost.

"_...and phoenix song! How extraordinary! To match venom and flame, why, only Slytherin would have thought of such a match... your magic yearns, its shines, it burns... Mr. Potter."_

The hat suddenly said, and Harry stopped his frantic tapping of his foot, focused once more on the hat as its rambling stopped.

"_Mr. Potter."_

"_Yes?"_

He questioned nervously. He heard the voices rising louder around him, Dumbledore saying something, McGonagall responding, a dull cacophony of sound that he could not understand.

"_You are a mix, Mr. Potter, and no mistake. You would be happy, I believe, anywhere you go. Perhaps you could even be powerful. Complete your quest. But your magic, this path you have started on, there is only one place you will be truly accepted with it. Only one place you will not have to stay hidden, where you can be free. And Freedom is a great Power all its own."_

Harry held his breath. He thought frantically, _Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor!_

"_Do you not want freedom? I think you do. I cannot see your mind, but your magic, it longs for its freedom, to not be caged inside..."_

Dread was hissing now, an accompaniment to Harry's chanting, a hiss that agreed with the hat, about freedom and the feeling of scales on earth, of prey to be followed, of the _fang-into-flesh_, the _swift-strike._ The noise reached a pitch, and he could hear loud footsteps walking around the staff table behind him, walking towards him, could almost see a shining hand reaching for the hat on his head.

"_...I seem to be out of time to convince you, Mr. Potter, so I will sort you where you need to go, and the magic you possess most definitely belongs to __**SLYTHERIN**__!"_

The hat roared the word, Harry's ears ringing with it, all outside sounds stopping. He reached up and ripped the hat off his head, eyes wide. Dumbledore stood beside him, McGonagall on his other side, both shocked. The Headmasters eyes locked on his, a ghostly hand reaching out as if to touch but stopping, torn away by a furious current. He turned his eyes away, sat dumbly on the stool, eyes looking out over the silent student body. They all looked shocked, most of the Slytherins outright antagonistic. He had destroyed their Dark Lord, who was he to enter their lair?

Suddenly movement, a solitary blond figure standing, clapping, beckoning. He felt the hat being lifted from his limp fingers as he stood, beginning to walk toward the table on the far left of the Hall. As if momentum had been started, the whole table slowly followed suit, reluctant. He saw Ron Weasley glaring at him in triumphant revenge, mouthing the word 'evil' to his companions, and looked down at the floor. The minute he sat the clapping stopped as if a switch had been flipped, some turning away from him, some curiously looking. Harry only stared at the plate in front of him, ears burning, mind in turmoil.

This was not the way it was supposed to be. He was supposed to go to Gryffindor, where he would be safe. In a tower so he had a window, so he could fly, not locked in a dungeon with only the lake for scenery. And now he had to deal with Snape! That vicious man who hated him, who had obliviated Mr. Steel. How was Fawkes going to visit? The questions kept coming in misery, Harry no longer paying attention as the sorting continued, lost in his self-pity. He heard Ron being put into Gryffindor, and sunk farther down into his chair. Ron Weasley could get into Gryffindor, and he could not? What was wrong with the world?

A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he looked up to meet Blaise's smiling eyes and the boy then sat daintily next to Harry, spreading out his robes and looking dignified. He looked across at Draco, who had been trying to get his attention as well. The blond then spoke, whispering.

"Well done, Harry! I know you had it in you!"

Blaise agreed, nudging him in the side. Harry tried to smile, half-hearted. Suddenly the dark haired boy gestured up the hall, and Harry turned to see Professor McGonagall lifting the hat and stool away, Dumbledore once more seated in the center of the staff table. The older man's eyes were on his, concerned and questioning. Then the man stood, slowly, a smile melting onto his face, crinkles around his eyes. A mask, Harry wondered, and easy as pie for him to put on. He found himself frowning as Dumbledore welcomed the students, and then spouted off four nonsense words that seemed to mean nothing.

Everyone clapped and cheered, except most of the Slytherins and Harry, who only stared at the old man and wondered. He heard Draco mutter under his breath.

"He's mad."

Blaise turned and whispered back, a hard edge to his voice.

"He's powerful."

Harry could only agree. He had read, in one of his novels, of the fine line between genius and insanity. He supposed all wizards could be said to totter on the edge of it, especially those who, like Dumbledore, had lived over a century with great power. Before he could comment, all the dishes around him filled with food, and his stomach immediately rumbled. He began to serve himself, slowly and cautiously, taking signals from those around him. Apparently table manners were definitely a Slytherin thing, as he noticed many carefully spooning small portions, and eating slowly with mouths closed. It made the Slytherin table appear quieter, different, from the others who were rambunctiously digging in. Already, Slytherin was set apart.

He wanted to groan, but instead ate, listening half-heartedly to Dread mumbling about real food and living prey, and to Draco and Blaise and two girls sitting next to them discussing upcoming classes. Apparently the girl next to Draco, Pansy Parkinson, and the one next to Blaise, Daphne Greengrass, were both looking forward to charms, while Draco and Blaise argued for Potions and Transfiguration, respectively. Harry swallowed a bite then hesitantly spoke up; trying to at least be social to what was now his new housemates.

"I think Charms will be great, but don't even think about History of Magic. It's taught by a ghost, and all he wants to ramble about is the Goblin Wars."

The four turned to look at him, Draco and Blaise smiling, the two girls with neutral looks on their faces. Draco spoke, eying them.

"You're talking about Binns, right? My dad says he was teaching when _he_ was in Slytherin."

The other three nodded, apparently already knowing this information as well. Harry looked down, scooping up more food, as the conversation continued without him. The rest of dinner passed that way, small conversations popping up here and there, mostly reserved and polite. Harry felt lost again, and looked yearningly over at Gryffindor table, where Hermione was animatedly discussing something with those sitting next to her. At least that table seemed to be having fun.

He glanced from there up to the Staff Table. The professors where all eating, some talking to others, most merely glancing down. Hagrid seemed to be deep into a goblet, much like he usually was during the summer. Headmaster Dumbledore was talking to Professor McGonagall, their faces giving away anxiety. Harry had an inkling that he himself must be the target of that conversation. His eyes moved past them to see Professor Snape talking to another professor he had not met yet, a white man dressed in resplendent scarlet robes edged in gold, and wearing a dark red turban. It happened as suddenly as his eyes laid on the two of them there, the fingers ghosting forward, grasping, grabbing, eager and hungry. He let out a low grunt, _Mem_ flaring to life on his forehead. His hand reaching up to grasp it, the sharp pain such a surprise... and then it was gone.

He held in any other sign of the lingering pain, slowly lowering his hand as if he had merely scratched an itch. He then turned to Blaise, easily interrupting their conversation as his mind whirled.

"Who is that professor there, talking to Professor Snape?"

Blaise looked, eyebrows drawn together. He turned to the other three, and the girl, Pansy, spoke up haughtily.

"That's Professor Quirrell. He teaches Defense against the Dark Arts. My cousin, she had him a few years ago, she said he was wonderful. Apparently he was injured in some battle with Vampires and came back here to teach. Not sure how, though."

Harry nodded, before looking once more up at the table. The two were no longer talking, each instead eating while glancing over the Hall. Harry felt no more stinging. He was certain though that it had been Quirrell, not Snape, to try and grab his mind. When Snape had done so before it had been with much more subtlety, a changing approach designed to slip past any barriers, silently. This attempt had been designed to slam right through them, to cause pain on purpose. And whoever it was, they were a master as well at what they did, to not need direct eye contact. He found d himself grinning savagely at the thought of the nasty headache they probably had after coming into contact with his own mind. If _Mem_ hadn't dissuaded them, _Samekh_ certainly had. He remembered it before, when Snape had been inside his thoughts, the dark wings flickering down, the bloody fanged smile.

"Harry?"

He turned to Blaise, and the other boy almost flinched, holding it back at the last minute. Harry's eyes had seemed to be lit from within, a slight trick of the light. It was gone in a moment.

Harry met the boy's eyes, about to ask what was wrong, when he heard motion at the Staff Table. He turned just as Headmaster Dumbledore began to rise, once more gaining the attention of the Hall.

"_Ahem._ Now that all your bellies are filled, I have a few more words to leave with you. First-Years should know that the forest is off limits to all pupils. A few of our older students should remember that as well."

The twins from Gryffindor laughed as they were ribbed by a few fellows sitting next to them. The Headmaster continued.

"Also, no magic is to be used in the corridors between classes. Mr. Filch would most appreciate this. Quidditch trials will be held, as always, he second week of term. Finally."

He paused slightly, looking around, his face no longer smiling but deadly serious.

"Finally, I must tell you that the third-floor corridor is strictly off limits, to all who do not want to die a most painful death."

It was a dire warning, causing some to laugh, thinking perhaps it was a joke. But Harry felt a sort of resonance throughout the hall, a foreboding. He told himself to most definitely stay away from there. Suddenly Dumbledore smiled again, throwing up his hands.

"Now, let's sing the school song!"

What followed was horrific in the least. As Dumbledore set out the words with a banner conjured by his wand, the school began to sing, each following a different tune. Most Slytherins did not participate once again, a solemn bleak presence. Gryffindor was loudest of all, with those same red-haired twins finishing at a low funeral march. Harry reflected on the spectacle, as students clapped and cheered, happy and revived. He could see their magic sparking with joy at the silliness, the revelry. It flickered up to the ceiling, brushed the walls, to be taken in by the school itself, a sentience Harry could not begin to fathom.

And then it was over, and they were dismissed from the Hall. Prefects, fifth year and up students given extra responsibly and respect, from every House stood, beckoning to the First-Years as the other years filed out quickly, laughing and talking loudly. Once the noise had faded slightly, the female prefect for Slytherin, Gemma Farley, briskly commanded the first years to follow her to their dormitory. They did so, Harry giving a last glance back towards the other Houses. He then straightened his spine and his mind, determined to no longer morn what would obviously not be. He was in Slytherin now, so he had to play the part. He would have to be much more careful, as well.

Farley led them down towards the dungeon, on the far side of the school from where the library, and Harry's summer rooms, were. He had never explored this side of the school, preferring the halls and corridors above ground. He had never been one for dark underground places, and already he felt slightly creeped out. Farley pointed out the Potions Classroom, then their Head of House's office as they passed by. Harry frowned, reminded that he would now have to deal with Professor Snape on a daily basis. He hoped the man might like him more now, as one of his Slytherins. He wished he could of seen the man's face when he was sorted!

Farley stopped in front of a portrait of a soft grey snake, slowly winding its way out of the embers of a dying fire. The snake reared up as they approached, and Harry finally identified it as an Ashwinder, a magical snake that consisted of pure leftover magical residue, which would coalesce from magical fires left unchecked. It would live for perhaps an hour to two, only enough time to lay eggs in some darkened corner of the house. As its body turned once more to ash and dust, its eggs would burn ever hotter, until they eventually burst into flame. This usually resulted in the destruction of whatever building the foolish wizard had left such a fire burning in.

He found it odd that Slytherin, supposedly representing the element of water, would pick a Serpent representing Fire to be the portrait guarding its common room. He liked it.

Farley got all their attention, pointing imperiously to the soiled serpent.

"This here is what we like to call Ignis. Ignis is the portrait of an Ashwinder snake, and as such has been for bidden to leave its portrait to visit the others due to an unfortunate... _accident._ So no worries about an empty portrait. You will speak the password of the week to Ignis, and if you are correct, you will gain admittance to our common room. If you are wrong... Ignis will turn to dust, and not respawn until exactly one hour later. I suggest for your sakes, and those who wish to gain entrance after you, that you do not forget your password.:"

She looked sternly around at them all before continuing.

"Ignis burns every seven hours for seven minutes. This makes it quite random, unfortunately, as there are twenty four hours in a day. You will learn when Ignis burns. He will not be available until an hour after such a burning. If this confuses you, I suggest you research Ashwinders. If you absolutely must gain admittance during such a time, or when that time falls near curfew, a simple knock will allow anyone inside to hear you. Now, our common room is located under the Black Lake. Do not be startled by the green light coming through the windows. We are under water, but the glass is heavily enchanted to prevent any breaks or cracks, so do not fear. "

Harry already feared, very much. He did not like being down here, not at all. Farley then spoke the password loud, so all could hear.

"_Aperire."_

Open. How original, Harry thought with a grin. The snake hissed, tongue flickering, as the portrait slowly swung open. Farley paused once more before she led them inside.

"The password changes weekly, it will be posted inside the common room for you to see every Sunday. Memorize it. Girls, you will follow me to the right. Boys, you will enter the stairs down to your left."

Harry followed Draco as the boy stepped through the door. The common room was large, but every table, chair, and wall seemed to have hints of serpent's inscribed at it. Harry wondered wildly how long he could keep his Parseltongue a secret in such a place. Most things were embossed in silver, though the wood was a deep cherry color. A huge fireplace consisted of two serpents rising up, poised to strike. It reminded him of Dread when it was still a simple ritual knife. No green glow came from the windows as the prefect had mentioned, instead the room was lit with a few floating globes of light. They could still see, but it was a low light. The students who sat on the sofas had light pouring forth from wands sitting on tables or chairs. Harry reminded himself to learn that spell quickly. Draco hesitated inside, staring around with wonder. Suddenly someone bumped into him from behind, and Harry turned to see Nott smirk at Draco and saunter past, heading down the stairs into the boys side of the dormitory. Harry and Draco shared looks and followed.

The stairs led down, small windows giving off only a dark green tint. Probably because it was dark outside. Between those, more globes glowed, their light too bright to look directly into. The first door on the left was embossed with the number One in elegant script. Harry looked curiously down the stairs farther, before a voice behind him startled him. It was Blaise.

"They put the first and second years here, on the second level. Below that, down those stairs, are the thirds and fourths, then farther down the fifth and sixths."

Harry nodded, before asking about the seventh years. Blaise grinned, showing a full set of perfect white teeth.

"We are lucky. The seventh years get their own rooms, accessible by a single door on the fifth level down. You speak your password, open the door, and it's your room. It's some sort of portal, kind of like the platform. My mom says that the seventh years give out secret words that can port you straight up to different rooms in Hogwarts too, so you don't have to use the stairs."

Harry's eyes widened, excited. It seemed there would be some perks to this after all. In a few years, anyway. He sighed and followed the boy into the room, where a long row of beds and dressers lined up on the right side, while the left had large windows and tables. Must be for studying, Harry thought with a sigh, before he saw Nott smirking from the bed he had chosen, closest to the door. Harry merely smiled at him, and the boy looked down and away. Harry headed instead down towards the end of the room, stopping and picking up his trunk on the way from where it had been laid at the foot of a bed. The last bed at the end had another window beside it, looking out into the dark reaches of the Lake. Harry once more groaned and wished for the surface, feeling trapped down below the ground.

He lifted his trunk with a grunt up onto the bed, before sitting on it and looking down the line. Blaise had followed him and set his trunk on the bed beside him, with Draco on the third one. On the two beds between Draco's and Nott's the two boys Draco had been standing with earlier were putting their stuff down. The large boys had not introduced themselves or spoken during dinner, staying to themselves and shadowing Draco. Harry turned and asked Blaise who they were quietly. The boy scoffed, his eyes disdainful.

"Those two are Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Their families are bound to the Malfoys, something to do with _politics_, if you know what I mean. Dumb as doorknobs, I say, too much _inbreeding_."

He said this with a pointed look, leading Harry to reflect back on his speech from earlier on the train. He simply shrugged and turned away, reaching for his trunk. He flicked a look back, saw Blaise busy with his own stuff, and quickly swiped the, once again bloody, Gringotts handkerchief. The trunk clicked open with a snap, and he opened the top and began to pull out his clothes, placing them inside the dresser. His books and school supplies went into the desk across from his bed. He then placed the potion ingredient kit onto the floor next to the window, the scales and telescope both folded up in a bottom drawer. After this, he made sure his _extra-curricular_ books were in order in one compartment in the trunk before closing it with another snick and sliding it underneath his bed, on the window side. If he needed anything, he would merely pull it out and open it, from the privacy behind his bed.

He glanced at the others, sitting on his bed dully. He was tired, alone. He sent a quiet goodnight to Blaise, looked over at Draco still fussing with his school supplies, then climbed into his bed, pulling the curtains around it closed. He changed behind them, pulling off his underclothes and slipping into pajamas before sinking into the plump covers.

That night, his dreams were haunted by the ever-present green light.

* * *

Mr. Steel slowly walked up to the front door of his furniture shop, leaning heavily on his cane. He was flanked by two younger men dressed impeccably in suits. He knew they were armed, and did his best to ignore them. It had been part of the agreement to let him come here, to be guarded. They did not want him to simply disappear as easily as his memory had already done so. He was valuable, They said. He was the key.

He entered the glass doors, the two slipping in behind him. There was a rustle, a breathless voice calling out, "Just a minute!" and then a young blond-haired boy came around the corner, face flushed. His eyes fell on them and his smile dimmed, his eyes going wide. Then he let out a wordless exclamation and came blundering over to him, slamming into him with a hug, sobbing.

"What's going on?"

Another question, slightly angry, impatient. This time it was an older boy, on the edge of being a man, his voice deepening. His black hair was slicked back from his face, and a frown graced his mouth. When he saw Steel he stopped dead. He observed them for a minute, Steel's arms around the young boy, and the two guards behind them. Then he turned his face slightly calling up the stairs.

"Kerr!"

The Mike met Steel's eyes, furious.

"What the Hell took you so long?"

Mr. Steel felt a bit at a loss. The boy in his arms, Tiny, bent back, looking up into his face. Mr. Steel just wordlessly shook his head. Then movement behind Mike, a sandy-haired boy peeking around, freckles suddenly sharp against a deathly pale face. Kerr looked them over, looked at the guards behind them, and then asked, softly.

"Can you join us in the upper rooms? Alone?"

He said the last glancing over the two men. The one on the left hesitated, but the other nodded sharply. Mr. Steel was led forward by Tiny, following the other two of two flights of stairs into a wide living room. He sat welcomely, wordlessly, waiting for the questions. He did not have to wait long.

Mike repeated what he had said earlier.

"What the Hell took you so long? _It's been a month!_ We were worried _sick!_ How has Harry been? What are those two men doing downstairs? Are they wizards? Are we being _monitored?"_

The boy finished in a rush, face now flushed and equally confused as angry. Mr. Steel paused, looking over at Tiny for a second before meeting Kerr's eyes. He sighed, and then began.

"Let me finish this, before you ask more."

He paused, waited for nods, one eager from Tiny, furious form Mike, and calm from Kerr.

"I came to myself the morning of the 1st of August, a very early morning, supposing perhaps I had fallen asleep, or just plain fallen. I made myself a cup of juice, and proceeded to go up to bed. On the way, my attention was caught by a solitary note lying upon my computer. Upon that note was written the words, in my hand, _'Who is Harry Potter?.'_ I did not know what this meant. I flipped the picture over, only to see to my amazement, a picture of all of us in front of that same cabin, with my own hands around a boy I did no longer remember."

Tiny let out a sob, shoulders beginning to heave. Mike slid over close to him on the couch, putting an arm around him. Kerr only waited, sitting, hands folded in his lap. He had known, suspected, something had gone terribly wrong. Steel continued.

"I immediately activated some safeguards I had in place. The cabin has been razed, I am afraid, to prevent us from being followed. Fire, more than anything, can prevent latent traces of our presence that the magical beings can detect. I had apparently also written a book, which I have read, but gaps where left that I cannot figure out, and that is why I am here, with a guard. To find out what I was not telling myself. What have I hidden? Who is Harry Potter to the Wizarding World?"

He said the last, echoing the very question that had kept him up for many nights. Tiny began to talk, but Kerr motioned him to silence. Mike leaned in, whispering in his ears. Kerr spoke, softly, confidently.

"Harry was to be picked up by his wizarding school the night of his birthday. The wizards must have considered you a liability. I now see the wisdom of us leaving the day before. As to what, or who, Harry is, that depends on you, Mr. Steel. You were what made him do the things he did, could not help doing. Did you write about that?"

Mr. Steel merely stared blankly, at a loss. Sure he had taught the boy books of magic, and how to read the stars, and how to lie and how to hide. His blank stare must have been enough, for Kerr spoke again after once more motioning for silence, this time at Mike, who looked absolutely furious.

"I think perhaps you did love him, more than you every loved us. But we were all just a means to an end for you, this discovery of the magical world hidden from all mere humans. You discarded us when Harry came, just as you made him do things that scar me to remember. And then we had to clean up after the mess, the blood and tears. We had to witness the agony, the mental fatigue and pain, the helplessness. I suppose we will never now know how you really felt. But why, _why, _should we now tell you anything about Harry? Why do you deserve to know?"

Steel sat back, his shoulders slumped, pain shooting up his bad leg. It was perhaps then that the best thing that could have happened did, a peck on the window, as if a bird was trying to get in. They all turned, looking, and beheld a most wonderful sight, a pure white owl looking in on them. Tiny gasped in wonder, but it was Mike who stood and walked over, opening the window, letting the bird inside to fly its way over to Steel.

He gingerly took the letter, after which the owl flew back over to perch on the back of a couch curtain beside Tiny's amazed eyes. Its own bright yellow gaze rested solely on Steel. He opened it with trembling hands, then let it slip through his fingers once he finished, tears beginning to fall. Kerr picked it up off the floor, his own eyes reading over it. Then he put it down, looking at Mr. Steel with that same calm gaze that spoke of a wisdom beyond his years.

"What are you going to say to him?" Kerr asked, his voice level. Mike grunted as he snatched the letter in turn, Tiny jumping up to come over and read it as well. Steel just shook his head, sitting there, wiping off his face with the back of one gnarled hand. Tiny began to laugh, bouncing.

"He's safe! He's happy! And he's got the most awesome owl ever!" Tiny looked over at Hedwig with adoring eyes, to which the owl preened its feathers. He giggled, reaching out one timid finger. The owl ignored him with good grace as he gingerly touched her chest, before snatching his hand back in glee. Tiny then leaned down, meeting her yellow eyes.

"He said you're a special owl. That must mean you're smart, I bet. Can you take more than one letter, Hedwig? If I wrote one too?"

Hedwig fluffed her feathers, and then slowly, state-fully, leaned forward in what could pass for a full-body nod. Tiny pumped his fist in the air in excitement, "You're the best owl ever! I'm going to go write a letter!" And shot from the room, leaving chilly silence in his wake. Mike sat again, this time beside Kerr, across from Steel. Finally Kerr spoke again.

"We will all write him letter, let him know we miss him and are glad he is safe. I suppose you no longer know where you planned to meet up with him?" When he saw Steels solemn nod, he continued. "This implies Harry gets out for a summer break. I say we give him a meeting place for three different dates during the summer, all in a different, busy, place. If Harry can meet us, he can. If he can't, he can't. We will each write one date in our letter, and not let the others of us know. Mike, you do one day in June. I'll do July. Mister, you do August."

Mr. Steel nodded, unsure of himself in front of this confidant man. Kerr had truly grown up. He had taken control easily, seamlessly, leaving Mr. Steel feeling old and out of the loop. He sat there as the boys made plans, as they wrote their letters, his own pen still on his blank paper. Finally he felt the sofa dip beside him, and looked over into Tiny's sad eyes.

"Do you really not remember? Anything?"

He shook his head, and Tiny spoke again, softly.

"Well, I know you had to love him. I saw you cry, once, after Harry left your office before one of his things. People only cry if they care."

Mr. Steel nodded, unable to speak, unable to say that sometimes people cry because they know they are doing something horrible and cannot stop. Tiny left as he began to write, haltingly.

When they were done, they tied the four letters together with some strong fishing twine Mike dug up from a deep drawer. Then with one last fond farewell form Tiny, Hedwig winged out the window, growing tinier in the sky.

"What now?" Came the question from Mike, looking at Mr. Steel. He sighed, standing, his cane held loosely in his limp hand.

"You will not tell me the truth. They will not let me stay. I will try to come again, soon, to visit. Everything in hand here?"

The boys nodded, giving shrugging, each looking at each other in turn. Tiny obviously wanted to say something, but was prevented from doing by Mike. Kerr stopped him as he began to descend the stairs with a hand on his elbow, and he quietly whispered in his ear.

"There is a quote I read, that I believe you should think on. You always did so love your books, Mr. Steel. _'If you live among dogs, keep a stick. After all, this is what a hound has teeth for: to bite!'_ Lose your guard; meet me two blocks over, at the corner with the pub, one month from now. We will talk."

Mr. Steel nodded, forced a smile on his face, and descended the stairs. After a last farewell he left, once more shadowed by two men, their eyes locked on his frame.

* * *

The start of term that year had been on the 5th of September, which happened to fall on a Friday. As such, the First-years where given the weekend to settle in and get used to the castle before classes began, on the next Monday. Their class schedules were given out Saturday morning, to many groans. Draco muttered about Potions with Gryffindors, which had Harry smiling. He hoped he could manage to sit with Hermione. She was a nice girl, and looked not a little smart. He was sure she would be an excellent partner. He had been told by Daphne that it was important in Potions to have the right partner, as they would be making the potions together.

The rest of that day, Harry wandered about with Blaise and Draco, shadowed by Crabbe and Goyle. The two boys still hadn't spoken, preferring to talk to one another in grunts and half-syllables. It did give off the impression of unintelligence, though Harry saw a gleam in their eyes more than once that belied there was more to this than met the eye.

He had looked for Hermione but not seen her, even in the library she had been so eager to visit. At lunch, everyone sat with their own classmates, which led him to ask a second-year if that was always so. He got a superior look back.

"Slytherins stay with _Slytherins._"

He had nodded, though his heart sank. There goes friendship opportunities with the other Houses. He looked about, but he didn't know enough of the other houses to know if any inter-mingling was taking place.

They explored more after lunch, before Harry excused himself to go to the library to 'research'. He stayed there for several hours, hoping to meet with Hermione, before giving up and going to Dinner. He passed this glumly, before seeing Hermione sitting just as respondent at her own table. He made eye contact and got a timid smile back. He waved, and was about to try and mouth something when a sharp elbow hit him in the side. He looked over at Draco with a frown as the blond frowned back at him angrily.

"Why are you waving at a _Mudblood_?"

Harry immediately frowned, the air colder and prickling his skin. Draco shivered, but his eyes stayed focused. Harry spoke harshly back.

"Why shouldn't I?"

Draco looked confounded.

"Well, because. She's, you know..."

"Oh just say it." Blaise interrupted, his eyes confrontational. "She is a lesser sort, Harry. Comes from a Muggle family. Will never be as good as Draco here, just like Nott said."

Draco flushed, remembering the argument on the train; and how Harry had abruptly ended it. He spoke quickly, hoping to switch some of the blame.

"Oh come off it, Blaise! You would no more dirty yourself with one than I would!"

The dark boy grimaced, his face slightly embarrassed.

"Well, my mother would never let..."

Harry shook his head, interrupting the both of them with finality.

"I will make friends with whomever I please."

The two boys stared at him, Draco with embarrassed anger and Blaise with reluctant admiration. Draco fervently whispered to him, his tone trying to convince him.

"Harry, you can't consort with them, and especially not _Gryffindors!_ The older years will have your head! Slytherins are supposed to be united, it's _us_ against _them!_"

Harry simply shook his head, denying the argument.

"Slytherins set themselves apart on purpose, and you wonder why the other Houses do not like us? People fear what they do not know. And I'm friends with Hermione."

At least, he hoped he was, if he could ever find her. Draco grimaced and turned away, giving Harry the cold shoulder. Blaise nodded to him sympathetically; though he didn't take Harry's side nor deny Draco's accusation. Harry looked at his plate, furious. Was this the way it was going to be? Was he not going to be allowed to make friends with other Houses?

After Dinner, he stalked up towards the Astronomy Tower, even though he was reminded of curfew in a swift whisper by Blaise. He nodded, but continued anyway. He might not have time to fly, but he needed some air. There was something about that height that soothed his soul. When he got close, the sound of phoenix song hastened his steps. He entered almost at a run, Fawkes swooping down from the sky to land on his outstretched wrist. He had not seen the scarlet bird since the sorting, and had been worried the phoenix was disappointed in his placement in Slytherin. Fawkes put that doubt to rest at once, singing his unique thought-song, his feathered wing outstretched to brush his side. He leaned in towards the heat wafting from those feathers, closing his eyes and enjoying how the writhing magic reflected the stars in the sky. Suddenly Fawkes lifted off, landing on the railing around the tower. He began to question until he noticed a white speck in the sky drawing near.

_Hedwig._

His breath caught in his throat as he watched her draw closer, his eyes locked on the letter clutched in her claws. No, _letters!_ There were four, each bound together. He sat on the side, reading in the glow cast off by Fawkes. He left Steel's letter till last, fondly and excitedly reading the one from Tiny, Mike, and Kerr, each congratulating him and asking questions. Tiny wanted to know if he could have an owl too, something Harry made a mental note to find out. Mike told him to stay away from the ladies, which made him flush and scowl, and Kerr reminded him to study hard but also have fun in school. He found himself smiling, and then gingerly put the precious letters in his pocket. He then opened the letter from Mr. Steel, breath held, eyes bright.

He read swiftly, his ears ringing with a rising phoenix song, his magic pulsing in agitation. At the end, he stood abruptly, startling Fawkes into the sky, and roared in anger, the letter bursting into emerald flame in his hand. There was a shadow of wings on his back; his magic swollen and taking corporeal form, a hint of feather and steel.

When he snuck back into his common room many hours later, his eyes were red from tears.

* * *

_Harry Potter,_

_What can I truly say? No, I no longer remember you. There are gaps missing from my recollections, places where you were but are no longer. Things we did but did not do. The boys are disappointed in me, I think, and imply things that I have done but do not remember. They will not tell me who you are in your world, though I can tell you are important. Special. Of course you are!_

_Oh Harry, I can tell I must have loved you like a son. I want to meet with you, in August. Write me back and tell me when you think you can make it. We will talk some then; will get to know each other again. We can work this out, Harry. _

_I am very excited to know what you have learned from the wizarding world. Please, bring as many books as you can, and perhaps a magical specimen if you can manage it. Also, I think the blood sample is a wonderful idea. I will make sure I come prepared._

_Learn as much as you can, especially about law and history. We will compare notes when we meet. Try to stay out of the spotlight, and do not draw attention to yourself. I look forward to seeing you. _

_Sincerely, _

_Gerald Steel_

* * *

_~To Be Continued: First Classes and Halloween~_

_~*~Review Please!~*~_


	16. A Current Under Sea

_**Authors Note:**_

_**Sorry for the wait everyone! I found a beta willing to edit this chapter for me, so, a HUGE THANKS to **__**Emma. l. aze **__**! She has beta'd this chapter for me, a huge undertaking! Many, many thanks! Also, A note: The first two years at Hogwarts will closely resemble canon. Third however, and after, will be extremely different. So, if its originality that bothers you, I only ask you to hang on for the ride.  
**_

* * *

_**The first year class schedule is in the forum for this story. I got most of it straight from canon, it suits my purpose. I did mess with the periods during the day a little, having three instead of two, so I could schedule in there some breaks. More like real school. Each period is two hours. I changed double potions to Thursday instead of Friday, because I thought it was crazy to have kids go from 1 a.m. astronomy class to 9 a.m. charms. Gosh, just asking for trouble!**_

* * *

_**Harry's Cheat Sheet Rune Guide (Full Length on Forum)**_

_**Ankh **__: The start of the blood magic ritual. Holds the magic in other runes in place. Allows magic expended to be returned. Repercussions: twice the effort to cast a spell, but the magic is returned after the spell is complete/expired. Located over the heart._

_**Mem:**__ Protects Harry's mind from outside influence or reading. Located on top of the scar, center of the forehead._

_**Heth:**__ Allows a shield to be formed of varying strength (stronger as Harry relegates more magic to its structure). Much like a bubble, spreading in the air and under the earth. Activation word, Heth. Located in the center of the left palm._

_**Ayin **__: Allows Harry to see clearly, both magic and far off places, as he wills. Repercussions: fixes his eye sight. Located on both sides of his temple, very very small runes._

* * *

Monday, September eighth, dawned cloudy and grey. It made the dim light filtering through the lake even darker, and Harry glared at the green window beside his bed as he lay under the sheets. He could hear Blaise beginning to dress, always the first out of bed. Blaise, he figured, did not trust Nott as far as he could throw him, and preferred to leave before the abrasive boy woke up. Harry liked to wait until he was gone before stirring himself, avoiding conversation. Things had been a bit awkward between him and his Slytherin classmates since he had defended his friendship with a Muggleborn. It did not help that said Muggleborn seemed unaware that such friendship existed, outright avoiding him in classrooms. He hoped Hermione did not think he was evil like the rest of the Gryffindors did, simply because he was in Slytherin.

He had been getting dirty gloating looks from Ron, and had a sinking suspicion the red-head was spreading rumors about him already. When he heard the door snick behind Blaise, he slunk out of bed and into his clothes, laying a hand on the letter clasped in his pocket. Tiny's letter was going to be his good luck charm on his first day of classes. He figured he might need it, with Potions being the first class of the day. Their schedule had Slytherins taking Potions the most of any class, Monday, Wednesday, and twice on Friday, all with the Gryffindors. He grimaced at the thought of spending time in class with Ron, and slid his robe over his head and headed out, barely sparing a glance for his messy hair. It was getting longer, and more unruly, now that he was no longer getting the constant haircuts Mr. Steel insisted they all have.

At least he had Defense Against the Dark Arts to look forward to. Everyone claimed it was an awesome class, and that the professor was great. After the mind reading attempt in the Great Hall however, Harry was skeptical of these claims. Based on his reading, _Legilimency,_ the reading of minds, was illegal except in law enforcement, and a rare skill at that. Why would a great professor break the law and use it on a student? Though, perhaps that was standard, if the man was as paranoid as they say. He couldn't wait to see the man for himself.

He quickly trotted up the stairs and out, heading for the library. There were a few students about, reading various texts. Some apparently liked to get an early start as much as Harry did. His pace sped up when he spotted a familiar bag in the corner. Grinning, Harry slid in the bench across from the girl. Her eyes flew across the text, and he stared until she looked up, startled. He gave her an uncertain smile and greeting.

"Hi, Hermione."

She slid her book closed, placing her hands on top of it as if it would act as a shield against him.

"Hi. Harry."

She looked down. Harry shifted slightly, before finally just asking what he had wondered desperately about over the weekend.

"You've been avoiding me. Do you not want to be friends anymore? I mean, I thought we were, you know, but then..."

He drifted off as Hermione quickly shook her head, eyes wide. A smile began to light up her face.

"You still want to be friends? I thought you would hate me! Ron said that all Slytherins hate Gryffindors, and especially Muggleborns, and..."

Harry interrupted her, laughing in relief.

"Ron! I should have known. No, I'm not like that. I mean, he's right about some Slytherins, I guess. I mean, well, actually, most of them do hate Gryffindors. And the other thing too... well. But not me! I mean, I still want to be friends if that's okay with you..."

Hermione nodded, eyes bright. Harry looked down at the book she was reading, his body relaxing as he realized it had all just been a misunderstanding.

"So, what are you reading?"

Hermione moved her hands and showed him the book, '_A Guide To Magical Ingredients_'.

"The others told me Professor Snape is a stickler on reading up beforehand. He expects us to know rudimentary ingredients and potions materials. I already read the school book, so I asked the librarian to point me in the direction of a good companion book and she said this was the best one on ingredients in potions and how they work together. It's a lot like chemistry, really, that's a Muggle study..."

Harry interrupted her, gesturing towards the book.

"Yeah, I studied that some, I was home-schooled and one of the older boys I lived with just loved it, Science, I mean. The Periodic Table and all that? Do you mind, if I look at it with you? I could use all the help I can get, I don't think the Professor likes me much. I've looked over the first few chapters in our book, but you're right, it doesn't explain much about the ingredients."

Hermione immediately moved over a bit, gesturing. "Sure!"

Harry nodded, before moving from his seat across from her to the one next to her, looking over the book as she opened it back to where she was before.

"_Most Common Ingredients." _He read the chapter title, before looking at the list underneath. Hermione took out her wand, taping '_Bezoar'_, and the page suddenly flipped through coming to rest on another page titled '_Bezoar_'. Harry whistled as she flushed.

"That's so neat! How did you learn to do that?"

Hermione smiled.

"The Librarian, of course. Honestly, boys! You would think more people would simply ask for advice." She teased him with a playful shove. Harry laughed and started reading with her.

They spent the next hour like that, laughing over the uses of some of the ingredients, before Harry noticed a lot of students getting up to leave. He pointed it out to Hermione, who gasped and jumped up, throwing things into her bag.

"It's time for breakfast! And after that, class. We'd better hurry if we want time to eat!"

Harry nodded, before pausing, and asking hesitantly.

"Hermione? Would you, well, would you like to be my potions partner? I heard we have to team up and all..."

He drifted off and Hermione smiled, her bushy hair bouncing as she nodded quickly.

"I would love to! I mean, I heard the same thing, obviously, but the others did not seem too serious about it, and I am a bit, well, I've heard it said I'm bossy..."

Harry laughed as they continued walking towards the Great Hall.

"Bossy? That's just a term people give when they know you are smarter than them and don't want to admit it!"

He repeated a quote Mike had often told him when the sarcastic boy heard Harry complain. It did the trick, Hermione's smile growing. When they reached the hall, Hermione waved and they split ways, Harry heading towards the Slytherin table. Draco scowled at him as he sat down.

"Where were you? When I woke up, everyone was gone!"

Harry began to shovel food on his plate, grinning. "I bet Crabbe and Goyle were still there."

Draco scowled further, muttering under his breath. "You know what I mean."

Blaise laughed into his food, causing Greengrass and Parkinson to flinch in disgust at his blatant disregard for table manners. Harry smiled to himself. Diversion accomplished.

* * *

After breakfast was over they headed from the Great Hall down into the dungeons. Harry managed to weave his way through the crowd to end up beside Hermione, nudging her to get her attention. She smiled at him. Harry heard an angry murmur behind him, and looked over to see both Draco and Ron with the same curled lips and glaring eyes. He felt a smirk working its way onto his mouth and let it come, watching as Ron dissolved into angry mutters. Draco merely frowned before his Slytherin mask covered his face. Blaise, walking beside Draco, nodded to him. Harry turned and entered the classroom a step behind Hermione.

Of course, the dratted girl would head straight for the front desk. Harry mentally groaned, hurrying up beside her to whisper in her ear frantically as other desks filled up.

"Why do we have to sit in the front?!"

Hermione looked over at him with a sideways frown.

"Because teachers respect students who sit up front. Trust me!"

Harry muttered under his breath with a sigh, sitting down reluctantly.

"I don't think anything will make this teacher like me."

Hermione frowned back, her eyebrows drawn together.

"You've met Professor Snape?"

Before he could reply, the man himself swept in, his wand closing the door with a bang.

"No tardiness will be tolerated!"

Professor Snape looked about them, a sneer twisting his face, before he gestured sharply towards the desk and an attendance list floated over to him. He took it with a sharp gesture, and began to read out names one by one. He paused slightly at Harry's name, his dark eyes looking him over, before he continued. Harry looked down and let his shoulder relax at the reprieve.

At the end of the list the man snapped his wand and it disappeared. He looked them over before beginning to speak, his voice soft and stern. An even deeper silence fell across the class as they leaned forward to catch every word.

"Potter!" Harry jumped, almost dropping his quill with the sudden noise. He met Professor Snape's eyes, face flaming.

"Let us see how many of you dunderheads have actually read your class material. Tell me, Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry felt his stomach swirl, nervous at the sudden attention from the rest of the class. Then the smallest nudge, Hermione slightly tapping his side, and he remembered that very morning, laughing with Hermione in the library.

"The stomach of a goat, sir."

The dark-haired professor raised his eyebrows for the briefest moment, before his gaze moved on.

"Weasley! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry glanced behind him, to see Ron stuttering and blushing, looking down, mumbling.

"I don't know, sir."

"What?"

Snape softly hissed. Dread echoed with approval inside his mind _'This one knows how to lure his prey."_ Harry mentally told him to shove it as he watched the Gryffindor sink into his chair.

"_I don't know,_ sir!" Ron called out louder.

Snape stood up straight, folding his arms.

"Clearly, some of us need to open the text before coming to class. Perhaps your partner can help you? No?"

The boy beside Ron shook his head with a small smirk. Hermione's hand rose in the air, the girl on the edge of her seat. Snape turned, looking past the Gryffindor to meet Harry's eyes once more.

"Well, how about you, Potter? You _seem_ to be paying attention?"

Harry paused slightly, trying to decide whether the Professor was purposefully setting him against the Gryffindors or not. Considering Ron was their pseudo leader, and he had gotten the question wrong... but then Harry saw the aggressive tint behind Snape's eyes and something within him needed to fight back, if for no other reason than to score the smallest triumph.

"A powerful sleeping potion."

Professor Snape had the faintest smirk about his lips before he declared proudly,

"Somebody has been studying, I see. Five points to Slytherin. Now, perhaps a tricky one I present to the class. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione's hand again darted into the air, waving almost frantically. Snape spared her a flippant glance, before moving on to Draco, who had coolly raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco grinned smugly, speaking loud and clear.

"Monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant."

Professor Snape smiled slightly with the slightest twitch of his lips, before waving his wand at the board. The three previous questions and their answers appeared.

"Very well done! Another point to Slytherin. Well? Write it down!"

He glared about the class, and quills were quickly set to paper. Harry mentally bemoaned the lack of a Muggle pen before he dutifully began copying notes. What followed was two hours of lecture on various ingredients required in the basic potions covered this term. His hand began to cramp an hour in, and by the end, he had switched hands twice. He hated to imagine how the others must feel, though Hermione seemed to get along well enough.

After what seemed like an eternity, they were finally dismissed after a stern reminder to study.

* * *

After Potions Harry trekked up to the Great Hall, bent on eating lunch and giving his head a break. Information swirled around his head, and he was having a hard time putting it together. It had been a long time since he had been in an actual school setting, with note taking and such. Being homeschooled was much more laid back, and the other boys were always there joking about what they already knew. They had helped him remember things, given him pointers.

He was so happy Hermione had been there taking notes next to him; she had seemed to be getting much more out of the lecture than he had. Two hours was a long time to hear one man drone on about the catalytic consequences of mixing two counter-elemental forces... He flopped down onto the bench at his table, staring blankly at the empty plates. He checked his watch; ten more minutes before the food appeared. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Tiny's letter, reading through it once more. A smile worked onto his face. The sound of footsteps coming nearer caused him to gently fold the letter and place it back into his pocket.

"Hi, Harry."

Draco's voice. Harry looked up, squinting. The blond sat next to him, smiling.

"So, how did you like potions? Isn't Professor Snape great? Did you see the way he laid into that Weasley? Stupid Gryffindorks! No offense to your... friend, of course."

Draco mumbled the last. Harry turned to face him, intrigued.

"No offense?"

Draco sat up straighter, face composed.

"Of course not. Your friends are my... well, not my friends, but, you know. Off limits."

Harry tried not to gawk. Where had this change of heart come from? He supposed this was as close to an apology as he was going to get from the other day, and gladly took it.

"Potions? I guess it's okay. It's an awful lot to memorize though."

Draco looked up slyly, his immaculate smile gloating.

"Well, I already know most of it. Professor Snape, he is my Godfather you know, he's always told me things like we learned today, what can go with what. He's even let me help brew a few potions! And chop ingredients, which to me is the least fun part, except with electric eel fins, now that can be cool..."

Harry let the idle chatter breeze over him, nodding at the appropriate parts. He was glad Draco was talking to him again, even if he didn't leave much room for Harry to talk, often answering his own questions. The boy had a prideful streak a mile wide, Harry had found out the last few days. Hurt it, and the boy would be very slow to forgive, if ever. He began to eat once the food appeared; feeling like it had been a lifetime since breakfast. Suddenly Draco paused, turning to him, eyes earnest.

"Say, Harry, you want to sit with me in Defense? The tables seat four, I mean, we don't partner like in potions, but we might have team projects from time to time. What do you think?"

Harry laughed and replied. "As long as we don't sit in the front!"

Draco agreed solemnly. Blaise suddenly ran up to the table, swiping a few sandwiches seconds before they disappeared. The two boys stared up at the normally composed boy, looking flustered and out of sorts.

"What's up?"

Blaise looked at them as if they had grown second heads.

"Haven't you heard?"

The two looked at each other, before shaking their heads. Blaise sat with a huff.

"There was a break-in at Gringotts! Just discovered this morning! And it was the vault right next to my mother's! Can you believe this? Gringotts is supposed to be the safest place in the world! No one can break in and _live._"

Draco gaped in a very unsophisticated way. "No way! Which vault? Was anything stolen?"

Blaise shook his head, swallowing a bite and replying.

"They're saying nothing was stolen, but that stinks of a cover-up to me. I mean, what're the chances of that particular vault being emptied just the day before? It was the vault right beside the Zabini Vault, number 713. High Security, too, you know, with those special doors and all."

Harry frowned, his mind racing. Then he remembered, Hagrid had been asking to go to that very vault. But he didn't look like he had anything with him. Though, knowing wizards and their magic, it could have been tucked away just about anywhere on the giant man. Blaise and Draco kept speculating, with everything from renegade Vampires to Muggleborn Supremacists. Harry rolled his eyes at the last one, not taking offense. It seemed many purebloods simply had no idea how harmless most Muggles are.

* * *

After lunch, the halls were filled with chatter about the break-in. It seemed the scandal had avoided the morning paper, but many students like Blaise knew from parents who had sent owls. In Blaise's case, his mother had wanted to assure him that their own family vault was untarnished. The goblins were going to have a lot in their hands with the bad press. Not like wizards had much choice about where to put their gold. Gringotts was the only Bank in the country, which was part of the reason Diagon Alley and its adjoining Alleys were so popular.

Greengrass had mentioned that their family kept their gold in Belgium, where their family originated, across the Channel. The mention of other wizarding communities had fascinated Harry, and he had asked the girl if goblins ran that bank as well. She had answered him with a cool stare. "Of course they do, Potter. Goblins always have their filthy hands on wizard gold, they couldn't _survive_ without it. I imagine any wizard who thought himself to start a bank would probably turn into a goblin, or simply disappear."

Harry had flushed at the scoffing answer, once more feeling ignorant. For all his book knowledge, simple wizarding facts sometimes eluded him. Draco told him not to worry about the uppity girl. "Her younger sister Astoria is a lot more fun, Daphne just thinks too highly of herself." Draco said with a grin. Harry returned the smile.

When they entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Harry made a beeline for a table in the back, wishing to put distance between himself and the professor. Draco grumbled a bit but settled in next to him. Blaise took the other seat with a cheerful wink, still full of the big news he was spreading around. The other seat remained empty until a Ravenclaw scurried in at the last moment, plopping down in the seat. The boy paled when he saw who he was sitting with and hunched down, trying to avoid eye contact. Draco grinned maliciously, but Harry gave him a subtle shove. He rolled his eyes and faced the front as Professor Quirrell rose from his desk at the front, spotless red robes seeming to soak in the light.

The man stood much taller than he had looked at the staff table, with the turban wrapped elegantly around his bald head. He seemed to exude a subtle hint of power, something that earned him instant respect from the classroom as it hushed when he stood. The man gazed about them for a moment, before calling out roll in a rich deep voice. Harry noticed that everyone was paying strict attention. Many had said they were looking forward to this class, that the teacher was the best in generations. He had also stayed the longest, breaking the so-called 'curse' of the position, which had limited those before him to staying only one term. Harry kept his eyes down, quietly acknowledging his name when it was called, shoulders hunched as if to defend himself from attack.

None came.

Professor Quirrell began with a short statement.

"This year, as it is your first, will be consumed with learning how to avoid conflict with those possessing a dark intent. Avoidance is the first and best way to stay out of trouble. In order to avoid, however, you must first learn how to detect. And detection is the beginning of what we will cover today... "

From there, the lecture went on. Harry found himself interested despite himself. The man was a marvelous teacher, somehow bringing his words to life before them, using his wand to create pictures and diagrams. The hours passed as if by magic, and Harry was startled when the Professor called time. The subject was fascinating in and of itself. Harry had not got as much from reading the text assigned as he did from the lecture.

It was as they were leaving, Harry with relief that he had escaped unscathed, that the headache started. At first, he thought he had perhaps strained his eyes. He raised a hand to his temple, pressing in, and then the ache increased just a hair, to a slow burn. He turned slightly at the door, one of the first to leave, and met brown eyes.

Later, he almost convinced himself that he did not see a hint of red within their depths.

* * *

The days seemed to pass in a haze of information and excitement. His first Charms class was a bit of a disappointment- it would only be lecture until Halloween. Would they have no actual spell casting classes for two whole months? As the students began to put their wands away slowly, trading forlorn glances, the short professor had quickly stopped them with a cheery wave.

"Wands out, class! We must go over the correct wand-movements and their applications, and I find that is done best with wands in hand, yes, like that, Mr. Boot, a great demonstration of the Swish-and-Flick..."

Harry shared an amused glance with Blaise, who had swept up to sit beside him, leaving behind a scowling Draco. Boot definitely hadn't meant to do anything on purpose, merely whipping his wand out of his bag. He now sat, red-faced, as the bouncy Professor tried to encourage him to do it again. What followed was a good two hours of the class waving wands about in an erratic and often ridiculous manner. Harry began to wonder what on earth the point was of it all, he could see no real difference in the movements, but perhaps that was because no spells were being cast. He sighed and took notes, glad nobody was getting their eyes poked out.

Charms was practically heaven compared to History of Magic. The ghostly professor proved to be just as horrible as they had been warned. As Harry ran to class, a little late from commiserating with Hermione in the library about her own Charms class, he found himself sliding into a back seat next to a bored blond Hufflepuff. The boy spared him a lazy brown-eyed glance, looked again at seeing who he was, then let out a long sigh and laid his head on the table. Once Harry realized the Professor was not even going to call roll, he started to open his notebook and write the monotonous words spilling from the ghost's bored face. The boy opened one eye and gave him a glance, before speaking in a slow drawl.

"Don't even bother, Potter. This is nap time, no matter that they moved it from right after lunch to discourage our sleepy brains from shutting down completely. Those poor sods up front will be wishing they were back here with you and me in a few minutes. You'll learn all you need for exams if you just read the book, trust me."

The boy turned his head over, before mumbling a last few words. "Name's Zacharias Smith."

Harry figured there was no point in introducing himself, given he was already recognized. He instead spent another twenty minutes trying to pay attention before he gave in and copied the already snoozing boy beside him.

* * *

Their second Potions class was just as intimidating as the first. Professor Snape was somehow able to terrify the students into silence even when silently observing their work from the front of the room.

The potion they had carefully covered the class before contained ingredients that could all be prepared ahead of time, and so that was exactly what they were doing. After a bit of juggling, Harry and Hermione had begun to work out a pattern. Hermione carefully labeled the jars in her precise handwriting, and then worked on preparing the ingredients that did not require the use of the knife, the pounding and crumbling. She was hesitant with the knife and far too careful, Harry had saw, and it had been his idea to split the load. She had been all too eager to agree, and then had watched in amazement as Harry had flown through the prep-work. He wielded the knife as if it was merely an extension of his hand, confident and fast, the blade flickering. _Almost like it's alive,_ Hermione thought as her hand continued to crush the snake fangs.

_The Cure For Boils_, a potion they would continue making for the next several weeks until the class was successful, was the first potion young wizards learned. It all seemed elementary to the both of them, simply following instructions. On the first day of class, Harry had speculated softly to Hermione about the multiple ways to complete certain steps and how they might interfere with the magic inside individual ingredients, which had started off a conversation that had led to several hours in the library the day before. They'd both agreed it was very dangerous to experiment with something they had little knowledge of, but they both loved reading up on the topic. Exploring the library together had become a favorite game.

When they finished, they were surprised to see that they had finished their prep work before the rest of the class. Hermione hesitantly got Professor Snape's attention, and the surly man looked over their work with a gleam in his eye. The Professors face twisted slightly, his lips turned down in a frown, but he apparently found nothing worth commenting on for he only told them to pack it up and dismissed them early. Harry had breathed a sigh of relief and shared a smile with Hermione as they left the room, which had turned to giggles. The two then walked out of the dungeons and to the Great Hall.

Harry hesitated, looking at Hermione. For a second he was tempted to ask her to join him, but she merely shook her head, reading his mind. She knew it would only cause trouble. Harry smiled sadly and went his separate way, pulling out Tiny's letter once more. Something about the young boy's cheerful attitude never failed to remind him of home. He missed them, so much, in times like these. He was sure Mike could explain all the politics to him, and Tiny would love to hear about the magical creatures he was learning about. For the next several minutes his eyes roved over the letter, committing the words to heart. As the hall began to fill with students, he put it away, slightly embarrassed. He doubted the others missed their homes so much they fawned over letters.

* * *

They had Herbology once a week, on Wednesdays. The plump Professor Sprout, a name Harry wondered was earned instead of given, had given them a brief cheery lecture on being careful handling foreign plants before digging right in to the subject matter: identifying dangerous verse benign magical plants. She mentioned that they would spend this semester learning to read magical signs in nature and extrapolate whether or not a plant was dangerous, and then next semester would begin learning how to actually find the plants. That would be conducted within the Forbidden Forest, the Professor sternly told them, and no funny business would be allowed.

Draco, his partner, scowled at the gloves he was forcing on his hands. Harry looked over at Blaise with an annoyed look. The boy merely smirked, whispering.

"I sure didn't want to partner with him. He's dreadful with plants, trust me. That left you!"

He chuckled. Draco huffed in annoyance at the dirt on his robes and Harry shook his head with a laugh of his own. Blaise was sitting with a Ravenclaw Harry did not know, who looked like she knew exactly what she was doing. They passed plants around the room, looking them over. Some were more attractive than others, but they were all, as Draco put it, "too plebian for words."

* * *

The part of the week almost everyone had been looking forward to came Wednesday afternoon, after Herbology. The Slytherins and Gryffindors would have their flying lesson out on the pitch, directly after the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. They passed them on their way out, and some looked happy and others looked only disappointed. Harry fidgeted, speeding up as they neared the pitch. Flying was the best part of his day, and lately he had not been able to sneak off like he had during the summer. He missed being in the air like it was a part of himself. He looked forward to having an alternative method that would allow him to fly during the day as well.

They were assigned to stand in two lines facing each other, while the instructor, Madam Hooch, would walk in between them giving them cues and pointers. She was tall, with shocking yellow eyes and grey hair. Harry found himself staring, fascinated with her. Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from them. Was she some sort of werewolf? Or did she have magical creature heritage?

"Or she just cast a spell on her eyes..." Hermione muttered under her breath next to him. He found himself smiling, shaking his head. It could really just be that simple.

"Good afternoon class!" Madam Hooch announced loudly once they were settled to her satisfaction, brooms on the ground next to them.

"Good afternoon Madam Hooch!" They all replied back, sharing excited glances. Madam Hooch nodded sharply, beginning her lecture.

"Now. The basics of learning to ride a broom all begins with the simple command to bring the broom to your hand. From small distances the broom will respond, though longer stretches may require the use of specific summoning spells, depending on the model and spells engraved into its design. This first command is very important, as it signifies to the broom's innate magic whom will be riding it. You cannot command another's broom and then let them ride it, as the spells will become confused and erratic. This is one of the reasons a personal broom is never ridden by others. These brooms, however, have specific spells that enable them to be ridden by any witch or wizard, though at the cost of speed and maneuverability. A fact that might encourage some of you."

She looked around, her face stern.

"Now. Who knows the command to summon a broom?"

The first year's fidgeted, before Draco smirked and answered confidently.

"Up!"

The broom beside him sprang into his hand in one move, and Draco grinned victoriously. Madam Hooch smiled and nodded.

"Excellent! Five points to Slytherin for that excellent un-called for example."

Draco looked a bit uncertain as to whether that was a compliment or not, but took it in the spirit it was given, with pride. Madam Hooch looked about, impatient.

"Well? What you all waiting for? Summon your brooms!"

Harry shared a glance with the others, then focused on the broom beside him as he heard chorus's of 'Ups!' erupting around him. He looked hard over the device, noticing the swirling patterns engraved in the wood, the frayed bristles sticking out the back. This one had obviously been around the bush and back, and not a little worse for wear at that. He could see, with a bit of focus, that the broom had a flicker of light, less than in a wand even, lighting up its structure. He bit his lip, before calling out sternly, picturing it in his hand.

"Up!"

It sprang up at once, slapping his palm with a force he did not expect. His eyes widened before he smiled, looking about the class. Many had gotten their brooms to respond, while all the Slytherins had accomplished the feat and looked almost bored. Hermione was frustrated, her mouth frowning as she tried for the fourth time to get the thing to respond. Just as Harry was about to offer some advice, the broom leapt up and whacked her in the shoulder, causing her to cry out. Snickers answered this, and Harry tried not to glare at them. Madam Hooch came over and soothed the girl's pride, before whispering some pointers in her ear. The next time, she got it right, though she was obviously unhappy about the incident. Harry was sympathetic, for so far the muggleborn had succeeded above and beyond in every class.

With a sharp whistle, Madam Hooch got everyone's attention again, clearing her throat and calling loudly.

"Now, mount your brooms! Hold at waist level in your dominant hand, then swing your leg over it and sit up. Hold hands here, and here. Not like that, Mr. Malfoy..."

She corrected hands as she went down the line, sternly scolding Draco for putting his hands in the incorrect spot, telling him he had been apparently riding incorrectly for the 'years' he had been riding brooms. The pureblood turned red at that, biting his tongue with some effort. Nott, next to him, smirked in amusement. Suddenly a loud shout caught their attention from the end of the line.

"HEEEeeellpPPP!" A boy's voice rang out in panic. As the figure began to rise, Harry recognized him just as their teacher began to shout.

"_Mr. Longbottom!_ Put that broom on the ground right now!"

The teacher grabbed her own broom with a nonverbal spell Harry could not quite catch, a complex web of light that brought it to her in one swift move, her body and magic merging with that of the broom in a way that made him envious, as she shot off after the flailing and screaming Gryffindor. The class' scattered laughter quickly turned to gasps as Neville plummeted from his wayward broom down to the ground. Harry's eyes widened as the boy fell, all of them running after to see if he was alright.

"Is he okay?! Neville!"

The students called out, leaning over one another to see their classmate. Madam Hooch leaned over his prone form, her broom fallen to the side, inanimate. Finally, she looked up from the whimpering boy.

"He is alright, but this looks broken. I will escort him to the Hospital Wing. I expect all brooms to remain on the ground until I return, or the consequences will be most dire."

She pulled Neville to his feet with a warning glare towards the rest of the class, leading the way back to the castle. The remaining students gathered together, chattering excitedly. Harry walked over to the dejected Hermione.

"You okay?"

She frowned, biting her lip.

"Yeah, I just thought it would be easier than this. That stupid thing did not want to respond to me."

Harry thought silently, before speaking slowly.

"Did you really want it to work? I mean, you know, it's the _will _that is important. You've got to really want it."

Hermione frowned at him.

"Where did you learn that?"

Harry was thinking of how to respond when laughter erupted to one side of the group. They both looked over to see Draco smirking, holding up a foggy glass object in his hand, engraved with golden swirls. Harry had no idea what it was, but Hermione gasped out immediately.

"That's Neville's Remembrall!"

The two pushed their way over, to see a beat-red Ron Weasley facing off against Draco. Harry scowled, knowing without asking what was going on.

"Draco."

He said the blonde's name, frowning. Draco looked over at him with a smirk, before faltering. The smirk slowly faded into neutrality. Draco spoke quietly, no longer looking at Weasley.

"Why does it matter? The boy dropped it. Finder's Keeper's, you know. He shouldn't have been so careless."

Ron growled from beside him.

"Why're you talking to your little Slytherin minion, Draco? You were talking to me! Now give me back Neville's Remembrall!" the redhead demanded forcefully.

Draco began to smirk again, standing straight, confidently reaching out his hand for his broom, when Harry pushed in front of Ron, blocking his view.

"Give it to me, Draco. I'll return it to him at dinner, no harm done. I'm sure the boy's family would greatly appreciate the courtesy from a fellow classmate."

The stress on family and courtesy, highlighting the pureblood style of thinking, gave Draco pause. Despite Neville's ineptitude, he was from a long line of purebloods, who were known for their fierce spirit and fight. Neville might be a black sheep on that side of things, but was still not a future political enemy one would want. Draco seemed to follow this line of thinking, and for a second embarrassment filtered across his face, and the blond handed the glass to Harry, who slid it into his pocket.

"Of course, Harry. I was going to return it all along, before this _Weasley_ thought to challenge me."

Harry let him save face, turning to smile at Ron and tell him no harm was done, when the redhead lunged at him, hands snaking into his pocket and shouting.

"Give it here, you bloody snake! You can't be trusted with anything, evil, the lot of you!..."

Ron knocked into him, almost causing him to tumble to the ground, and Harry pushed him off frantically, magic flexing about his shoulders, before Ron gave a shout of triumph, jumping back to hold out his hand, only to stare down in confusion. Harry felt his stomach drop out from under him, eyes wide. Ron held Tiny's letter that he had kept safe in his pocket all week. A devious smile crept onto Ron's face, and he opened the letter.

_"Give it back!"_

Harry lunged forward, but Ron mounted his broom in one leap, flying up into the air just enough that Harry could not reach him. He swore, desperate, as the freckled boy began to speak.

"What have we here, a little letter from the great Boy-Who-Lived's family, huh? What does it say? Must be important, to be kept in your pocket, and you want it so very badly..."

Harry looked about, before commanding his errant broom into his hand and mounting, beginning to rise up to Ron.

And immediately stopped, setting back down. The magic from the broom called to mind all the times he had flown on his own wings, urging him to fly, to soar, to ride the wind and his shoulders burned with it, the desire to stretch wing and fly. The magic seemed to be fighting within him chaotically, the broom seeking his own magic to power it but encountering his wings instead. He dropped his broom, standing, panting, defeated. There was no way he could get away with showing his wings now, not with all of them here so close and watching. The will to hold back the magic burning to be free left him exhausted, staring up at the triumphant Gryffindor in pain.

Ron smiled maliciously.

"So, is the _little snake_ afraid to fly? Heights _scare_ you? You look bad, maybe you should go to the Hospital Wing. Or I could read this to you,_ to cheer you up_!"

Harry stared, furious, with himself and with the Gryffindor, sitting up there so proud of himself. His head began to ache, his magic angry and writhing inside as the redhead began to read, his voice cheerful and sappy.

"_Dear Harry_, oh isn't that sweet, _Dear_, It's been _so_ long and I'm _so _glad you are okay. We got your letter and I was just _so happy_, Hedwig is just _the cutest owl ever_..."

Hermione had hold of his arm, holding him back from who knows what, because there was nothing he could do here on the ground, and he knew no spells yet to do with his wand, even though it was in his right hand, grasped tight, and he could almost smell the fire and ash and smoke, his magic rising in oppressive waves, eager, students backing away from him in concern, Ron unaware of the impending danger...

And then a shape hurtles past him, slamming into Ron and knocking him right off his broom to send him plummeting to the ground. Harry cries out in surprise, for a second sure it had been him, somehow, some accidental spell... and then Draco was smirking from atop his broom, holding up the letter triumphantly while Ron groaned in pain on the ground. He felt his heart pounding, beginning to slow as he ran over with Hermione, meeting Draco as he reached the ground, handing over the letter solemnly. Harry smiled at him in relief, unsure how to express his gratitude.

"_Mr. Malfoy! I never!"_

Draco's face paled dramatically. They all turned to see Madam Hooch bearing down on them in anger, her face pale and eyes dangerous.

"Mr. Malfoy! _Detention!_"

Ron groaned as she looked him over, before stopping the sound as she hefted him up with a rough pull. She gave him and equally hard stare.

"_You too,_ Mr. Weasley! To think, and after I had just said!"

Harry broke in, trying to explain.

"Madam Hooch, Draco didn't mean to, Ron stole my letter and I tried to get it back but couldn't, so Draco got it for me..."

Her yellow eyes met his, resembling a hawk that just spotted its prey.

"Is that so, Mr. Potter? And did this retrieval perhaps lift you on your own broom?"

Harry blanched, his face giving him away. She eyed the three of them with disappointment.

"Detention. All three of you, for disobeying my rules, and fighting in my class! This Saturday, I'm sure Hagrid can use some extra hands."

"But, Madam!"

Hermione tried to break in, but the angry instructor cut her off with a sharp wave of her hand. "No buts! That's the end of the matter! Unless anyone else want detention?_"_

The others shook their heads, looking down and away. Draco shared a grimace with Harry as they made their way back to the pitch. He sidled a bit closer to the dejected blond, nudging him to get his attention.

"Thanks. I owe you one."

He spoke sincerely. Draco looked over, beginning to smile.

"I'll remember that."

Harry smiled back, before the two resumed their spots in the lines.

It was then that it hit Harry that he could not fly. As the other mounted their brooms and hovered, he stayed on the ground, broom held loosely in his hands. Hooch stopped beside him, eyeing him with stern concern.

"Problems, Mr. Potter?"

He was uncertain how to respond, before he took the out that Ron had so easily given him.

"I'm sorry Madam, but I think... I'm afraid of heights."

Her eyebrows rose and a frown appeared on her lips, but over the remainder of the class Harry kept failing to fly and that disbelief faded into reluctant acceptance. Soon Harry joined Hermione in a small group of students who were unsuccessful broom-riders, watching the others slowly fly about the pitch, carefully coached by Hooch. Hermione nudged him, her smile cautious.

"Don't feel so bad. It's okay."

Harry nodded, then turned his back and began to walk away.

* * *

Harry moped through dinner, ignoring the others who were congratulating Draco on tackling the idiot Gryffindor. Looking down, he tuned them out completely, and groaned when he realized that tonight was the long day, with the midnight Astronomy class. He wanted to fly instead, wanted to be free and happy and just escape. Instead he would be stuck up on the Astronomy Tower, a heartbeat away from where he wanted to be, forced to look at stars for an hour. He trudged wearily up the flights of stairs, not eager like he would usually be, his shoulders slumped. He politely avoided conversation with his fellow Slytherins, who had finally left him alone. Instead he worked his way to the far side of the tower, next to a telescope that had been set up along the side. Shortly, he was joined by a blond Hufflepuff boy, who he finally placed as Zacharias Smith from History of Magic. He tried to give a cursory smile, before simply staring at the sky.

The professor directed them to partner up at the telescopes, a feat Harry seemed to already have accomplished with the 'Puff who was ignoring him just as easily as he was him. Draco looked over at him with concern from where he was sitting with Blaise, but Harry just turned away.

Their assignment was to locate the seven major constellations in their sky. Apparently they would be identifying and learning stars and constellations, and then would be learning their interaction with certain spells and potions. It all screamed of rote memorization, something he was already getting tired of. Professor Sinistra helped the groups use their telescopes, walking from student to student. He sighed and leaned back from the telescope, letting Smith in. Slowly he checked off his list of constellations with boredom, already knowing the particular information they were looking for. Smith suddenly spoke from next to him.

"I see you know your way around a telescope. You a stargazer too?"

The boy had a nonchalant air, as if he did not really care if Harry responded.

"Of sorts," Harry cautiously replied after a second.

Smith nodded, turning around, his voice slightly muffled by his shoulder as he spoke again.

"It's a hobby of mine. My family has always had their heads in the clouds, they say, but our eyes are locked on the stars." He smiled ruefully, "I'm afraid I fit right in, a sixth generation Hufflepuff."

Harry stared at the back of the boy as he bent over the telescope, putting the pieces together from what he had seen in his other classes. Pureblooded, obviously, and proud of his heritage. Smart, and bored with what he considered dumbed-down curriculum. He bet this boy could give Hermione a run for her money, although his attitude towards authority and books would probably get on her nerves. He found himself smiling, and when the boy turned around, he too had a grin on his face.

"So, partners?"

He stuck out his hand. Harry took it with a grin.

"Partners."

* * *

The next morning, most Slytherins slept in. Harry was the first to leave, dragging himself down to breakfast. They did not have potions until after lunch because of the late night the day before. Most students took advantage of that, but Harry had a mission.

The break-in had been on his mind since he had heard of it, as well as Hagrid's role in it. When he had received a short owl message from Hagrid asking for a visit, he took it as his opportunity to investigate. His curiosity had always made such mysteries impossible to resist, and after eating he began to happily walk towards Hagrid's Hut. He stopped as he was exiting the castle by the sound of Hermione's surprised voice.

"You up already? Didn't you have Astronomy last night too?"

Hermione's schedule was a bit different from his, and she had had Astronomy at eleven with the Ravenclaws, an hour earlier than the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs. He did not quite understand the ins and out of the schedule, and had wondered who decided who was where and with whom. Hermione and he figured they tried to make it as even as possible, but he did wonder if they would be in the same group throughout their schooling, or if it was on a term basis. He shrugged at her answer, paused, before deciding to confide his mystery with her. He figured it couldn't hurt, and he figured the girl had curiosity worse than him.

"Yeah, right after you guys. No, I was invited to visit Hagrid, the Groundskeeper who escorted us in the boats?"

He waited for acknowledgment before continuing. She nodded as he continued, "Well, Hagrid also took me to get my school supplies a few days before term began. And guess what vault he went to in Gringotts?"

Hermione's eyes widened as things slid into place.

"713!"

Harry nodded with a grin. Hermione immediately started in on the questions.

"What did he get? What do you think it is? Who did he get it for? What..."

He cut her off with a laugh, leading the way down a long line of steps towards the hut near the forest.

"I don't know, I didn't go with him. However, he was running errands for the school, so I bet whatever he got is here, somewhere."

Hermione's mouth made an O of understanding before she nodded, matching him step for step on the way down.

"So you are here to visit him, and secretly grill him about what he got from the vault. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were bored."

Harry grinned and replied, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were too."

They walked down the stairs, conspiring softly before they reached the small round wooden hut. Harry knocked gently, and was answered by loud barks.

"Down, Fang! Down! Back!"

The door was opened wide, Hagrid beaming down at them while he held a huge dog back by its collar. Harry identified it as a boarhound. It definitely fit Hagrid, he thought with a smile.

"Come in, come in! Its good to see you, Harry! And you brought a friend, tha's great, don't worry, Fang here, he's harmless, really. Make yerselves at home!"

Harry and Hermione sat gingerly on a large couch, and couldn't help sinking into its fluffy cushions. The black hound came over at once to drape itself across their feet. Hermione squeaked, her eyes wide. Hagrid came over carrying a large plate of biscuits, offering them each one.

Harry did not take it, though Hermione did. He hadn't thought to warn her about Hagrid's famous rock cakes. He had heard Professor Sprout and Madam Pomfrey talking about them a few days before term. Apparently, a student had broken a tooth on one before, and the healer had had to fix it. He glanced at the bushy-haired girl as she took a huge bite, and hid a grin as she tried to hide putting it back down with a grimace. Teeth marks graced its surface.

Hagrid turned to them, smiling. "So who's yer friend, Harry?"

"This is Hermione Granger, she's in Gryffindor."

"Oh, a _Gryffindor_, eh? I bet Professor Snape doesn't think too kindly to that."

Harry gave a sideways smile, agreeing. "Nor does my house, I think."

Hagrid nodded wisely, his eyes sad a moment. Then he turned to them with a grin, beginning to ask about how they liked Hogwarts, and what they thought of their classes. Hermione carried most of the conversation, and Harry's eyes snagged on a newspaper clipping sitting on the table. He casually reached for it, curiously glancing over the title. He began to read it out loud, watching as Hagrid began to straighten, his eyes flickering from side to side.

"_Gringotts Break-In Latest._ So very odd, isn't it? I mean, that they broke in and all. This was right after we went to the bank, wasn't it? You think the thief was there the whole time?"

Hagrid shifted his weight from side to side, not meeting his eyes. Harry felt a flare of triumph. So the larger man had indeed emptied that very vault. Hagrid dodged the subject with a simple 'nasty business, that.' and moved on to telling Hermione about a recent problem he had been having with the unicorns. Harry listened with only half an ear the rest of the visit, his mind roving on where the man would hide something that was that important.

When they left, Hermione grasped his arm, her voice low.

"Did you catch that too? Hagrid knows! He must have taken whatever it was!"

Harry nodded, grinning.

"Don't you love a mystery?"

Hermione laughed. Then she frowned, turning towards him.

" If it was that important, and especially if it really was 'school business', I bet it's hidden at Hogwarts, and where have they told us not to go?"

Harry grinned viciously, his eyes eager. They both spoke at the same time.

"_The third floor corridor."_

* * *

Double Potions started out fine and ended with a bang.

Harry and Hermione immediately got to work, carefully following the instructions written in the book and on the board. Sitting in the front, they did not find out what happened behind them until much later. All they knew was that, as they were about to finish an hour into the potion, a sudden loud bang and screams made them flinch and turn around with wide eyes. A noxious pink slime oozed across the floor towards the pair, and they scrambled onto their stools to get away. They looked to the source of the blast to find Ron Weasley and his partner, a freckled Irish boy named Seamus, covered in huge boils that kept which threatened to pop as they grew larger and larger, while at the table behind them Draco tried to hide his smirk.

Professor Snape rounded on the two Gryffindors, rage running in his voice.

"_Five points from Gryffindor! _What did you two idiots think, that you did not have to follow the directions? Leave at once! Madam Pomfrey can fix your mess."

The two boys scampered from the room, but not before sending scowls towards the smirking Slytherins. Hermione muttered to Harry, her voice low.

"They probably put the quills in too soon. That would cause those boils and that horrible smell."

The smell was horrible, and even after Professor Snape cleaned up the classroom it still stank. The livid professor finally dismissed them all, and Harry and Hermione reluctantly trashed their incomplete potion.

As they were walking back to the upper levels of the castle, planning to work on their latest Charms homework, (a twelve inch paper on the consequences of using the wrong wand movement), Draco suddenly caught up to them. He spared a brief glance for Hermione before launching into his story with a mischievous grin.

"Did you see that Gryffindork's face? He was so shocked! It wasn't hard, just leaned over while those two idiots were arguing about the consistency of their crushed fangs and 'plop, plop, plop'! Three quills, five minutes, and BANG! They were _covered!_ Wasn't it great?"

Harry grinned viciously, before Hermione interrupted, her voice angry.

"That was you? _That was dangerous!_ You could have hurt someone!"

Draco narrowed his eyes at her, voice snide. "That was the whole point, Granger."

She gawked, turning to Harry as if expecting support. Harry merely frowned, still angry over Ron stealing his letter. He had since locked it up in his trunk, safe from further meddling. Hermione glared at him as well, her hand resting on her hips as she scolded them.

"Harry! I can't believe you are siding with this, this... Malfoy!"

Harry retorted, his eyes narrowed.

"Why shouldn't I? Ron stole my letter; he wanted to embarrass and humiliate me! He would have done the same, if he had the chance and the brains to pull it off. He deserves it!"

Hermione shook her head, before sighing, shoulders drooping.

"He could have been hurt, that's all I'm saying. Just because he deserves it doesn't mean it was right."

Draco looked like he wanted to say a snide remark, but held himself back with a sideways glance at Harry. Harry let his anger fade away, pushing it out and taking a breath before giving a tentative smile to Hermione, hoping to end the sudden argument in the hallway.

"Draco knew what he was doing, I'm sure." He sent a glance at Draco, making the blond flush. "Just like you did, about the quills and their reaction and all. He didn't mean Ron serious harm, just a little revenge. Okay?"

Hermione nodded reluctantly, though she still was obviously not happy about it. Draco sniffed loudly, and Harry turned and gave an invitation to join them in the library. The Slytherin agreed, though Hermione looked none too happy about it. They spent the rest of the study time there, sharing pointers on their essays, until it was time for dinner. Harry was pleasantly surprised by how well Draco and Hermione were getting along, though there was no shortage of snide remarks from both parties. It was a tentative peace, and hopefully it might turn into real friendship. It would be nice for his friends to at least like each other.

* * *

That night, as Harry entered his dormitory room, he was met with indignant argument. Nott was red in the face, pointing down towards his bed while Blaise argued right back. Draco looked honestly startled, while Crabbe and Goyle just sat there. Harry narrowed his eyes.

"What's going on?"

Nott clinched his fists, stepping towards him with gritted teeth.

"What's going on?_ What's going on? _Why don't you ask your bloody pigeon over there! He burned my curtains and singed my homework!"

Harry stared, eyes wide, before trying to look around the angry boy as Blaise retorted,

"Why don't you tell him why, Nott? You were trying to open his trunk! I saw you! Don't try to deny it!"

Nott flushed, as Harry stopped looking and turned to face the boy. He glared, mouth pressed flat.

"Is this true?"

Nott growled back. "I was just looking for my homework, it must have blown over there somewhere, I had lost it."

"With what breeze, huh? There are no windows!" Blaise retorted, arms folded. The two boys had had it out for each other since the train ride. Harry shook his head, trying to slip past, but Nott was determined to have the last word.

"Well, it doesn't matter anyway, does it? Potter's got a bloody family trunk; no one could get into it anyway! And who on earth knew he had a bloody freaking phoenix?!"

Harry finally simply pushed them out of the way, moving around Draco and to his bed, where Fawkes was perched proudly on his desk, preening his chest feathers. He smiled at the phoenix, his mood already lifting. He hadn't got the chance to talk with him in days now, and missing his presence. He held out his arm for Fawkes, his magic sneaking free to run along the light sparkling the scarlet feathers along his breast a second before Harrys other hand did so. Fawkes crooned.

Harry noticed it was silent now, and turned to see all three of the boys staring at him. He finally sat at his desk and spoke calmly, putting an end to the argument.

"Fawkes is not my phoenix, he is the Headmaster's. He is my friend, however, and likes to visit me occasionally. Get used to it."

He met each of their eyes before continuing.

"As for my trunk, I would appreciate everybody keeping their paws off my stuff. The trunk is my family's, and as Nott said, impossible to tamper with."

Nott snorted and turned away, trying to act like he wasn't, in fact, backing down. Blaise smirked and began to change into his sleepwear, grinning as Nott tried to salvage his singed homework for Charms tomorrow. Draco came over, pausing beside them, looking with wide eyes at Fawkes.

"Do you think... can I touch it?"

Fawkes looked away, feathers slightly ruffled. Harry corrected Draco, trying to hide a grin at the phoenix's reaction.

"Fawkes is male, and probably more intelligent than you and I."

Draco flushed, before bowing in the direction of the phoenix, this time asking him directly.

"My apologies, Fawkes. Would you mind if I touched your beautiful plumage?"

Harry almost burst into laughter, but Fawkes puffed up in pride at the praise, meeting his eyes and letting out a soft song that lightened the tense air. Draco began to smile, a wide showing of teeth that Harry had never seen before. The blond reached out a hand, softly running his fingers over the golden feathers on the phoenix's nape.

Harry could see the magical aura of the phoenix as golden waves of light, and watched it transfer in a gentle wave, and suddenly it seemed Draco too was made of the bright light, though he looked much different than Harry. His own magic was spread out among his runes, looking more like a constellation of stars than anything else. Draco was like a solitary sun, burning bright from within his chest. Fawkes sang again, a soft chorus of light that brightened Draco's magic. Harry watched, intrigued. It seemed the phoenix could manipulate the very magic levels within a wizard, by simply singing to them. It was amazing.

Soon, Draco backed off, and Fawkes fluttered over to the desk, watching Harry silently. Harry wasn't sure what he could get away with, whether they could truly talk without it being noticed. But the phoenix seemed to have nothing to say, simply sitting there and looking him and his homework over as he put on the finishing touches.

When he climbed into bed and rolled over to sleep, it was in the comforting glow of the scarlet phoenix.

* * *

After lunch the next day Harry found himself once more in the library during break, and was soon joined by both Draco and Hermione. He smiled at the two of them as they glared at each other and sat on either side of him. Hermione began to look up books on Charms for their next assignment as Draco avidly read a copy of Quidditch For the Ages. Harry sat with a blank expression, idly thumbing through a book on magical theory before he suddenly spoke, not really directing the question at either of his companions.

"Why do you think we have Charms twice, but Transfiguration once? Doesn't that seem a little... odd?"

Draco looked up with a confused tilt to his head, but Hermione spoke authoritatively, like she was paraphrasing a book. Knowing her, she probably was.

"Well, for our first year we study Charms much more often because it is the basis for many wand forms we will use throughout our studies, especially in Transfiguration and Defense. Transfiguration also requires much more magical power because its transferring mass, a process which is much more difficult. Later on, especially starting in our third year, the spells we learn will require much more focus and magical strength; right now we simply are not capable of casting many upper level spells. Our magic is not structured, I suppose."

Draco nodded along, before speaking up when she paused to take a breath. He apparently did not want the muggleborn to look like she knew more than him.

"My father says that that is why advanced Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense classes are not offered until fifth Year. It's also why you cannot join the Dueling Teams until fourth. Our magical cores, he said, are shaped like round balls of fire, that swell and lash as we cast spells. As we mature, that ball will morph, growing larger, as well as stemming down into our dominant wand hand as we cast more spells. That connection is needed to cast higher level spells. What we are learning now are class five spells, the easiest of the lot. By seventh year, we should all be at least competent in all thirds, with the best of us learning twos. A few will even master level one spells, but most of those are either illegal or labeled 'dark', because they have few uses for things other than destruction."

Draco sat up straight with his chin lifted as he finished, proud of the information he had repeated. Harry thought for a second, considering the possible repercussions of his runes and the unique shape of his magic. Then he brought up something that had been bothering him.

"What about wandless magic itself?"

Hermione's lips twisted, and she spoke quickly before Draco could, causing the boy to roll his eyes.

"Wandless magic is really rare, and only practiced by the strongest of wizards and witches. It's kind of like starting the levels of magic all over again. If you can master a level one spell with a wand, you can only just barely cast a level five without one. It has to do with what Draco said, about the placement of our magic. It has to be used often to get it to connect with your hand enough for you to gesture and speak a spell and have the magic respond. The wand is what allows us to speed up that process, to give our magic another magical focal point to cast through. When using your hand, you would have to have magic present there without prompting, which means you are usually, well, older. Had lots of practice."

Harry nodded along with Draco, before turning back to his book. Hermione seemed to have lost her focus, idly flipping through her book. Draco suddenly spoke, his voice vague.

"You know, I've heard there are rituals you can do to speed up the process. You know, like blood magic."

Hermione caught her breath, looking absolutely horrified at the suggestion.

"That stuff is illegal! You could get put in prison!"

Draco smirked back, replying in another whisper as Harry felt increasingly awkward between them.

"Malfoys have a history in the Dark Arts, Granger. We make a point of learning the best magic has to offer. You think just because something is illegal that its going to stop us from knowing about it?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

"Knowing and doing are two separate things!"

"Agreed." Draco idly replied, absently looking down at his nails with a casual air. Hermione growled under her breath, turning back to her book with a huff. Harry would have laughed at their antics if he hadn't of mentally froze at the mention of blood magic. He turned to Draco, paused, and then looked back at his book. Some other time, perhaps, he could see what the boy knew about blood magic. Maybe even see if he had a book or two, for he had already scoured the Hogwarts Library and found nothing on the subject matter.

He also could not find the book he himself had learned from.

* * *

Transfiguration was held high up in the castle, near the Gryffindor common room, according to Hermione. He spent a second yearning before he threw his desires away. When they entered the classroom, the Professor was not inside yet, causing them to find their seats in peace. Once more Hermione insisted on getting a table up front. Harry followed her with a grumble, and Draco followed him. Each table sat four, and they were all set up facing a large desk in front of an even larger glass window. He looked outside as Hermione began to unpack her bags, before a nudge from Draco drew his attention to the doorway.

They had been the first into class, but a few more students had filled in behind them. What drew his gaze, though, was a solitary tabby cat, slowly walking forward until it reached the front desk, where it jumped up and began to wash its paw. Hermione sighed next to him, eyes locked on the cat.

_"Oooh,_ I wanted a cat so badly, but my parents always refused. Aren't they just great?"

Her question was rhetorical, but Draco replied anyway, loving to tweak the bushy-haired girls temper.

"I suppose they are alright. I have an eagle owl however, and they are infinitely more useful. Can deliver post and all that, and are much more intelligent that mangy _cats._"

Draco smirked, then gulped as the said cat in question fixed him with a stern glare. He looked down with a weak laugh, and Harry and Hermione both giggled.

"Can't you tell it must be magical? I mean, why else would a professor have one?"

Harry rolled his eyes at Hermione's smart answer. More students filtered in behind them, a harried Blaise hurrying to take the seat beside Hermione. Her eyes widened when he sat down. Blaise smiled and introduced himself.

"Hi. I'm Blaise Zabini."

"Hi, I'm Hermione Granger."

She said back hesitantly, unsure of herself. The dark-skinned boy just smiled and turned away, getting his things put away. Harry wondered how he managed to always almost be late, but arrive just in time. What on earth was he doing?

The whispers floating through the room suddenly stopped as words appeared on the board behind the desk.

"_Welcome to Transfiguration. Turn to Page 5 and begin reading."_

"Is she running late?"

Draco questioned, but Harry just shrugged and did as directed. Hermione followed suit, brows drawn together in confusion. A few minutes later the door banged open, and Harry turned thinking to see McGonagall, only to see Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnegan running in, hair wild and laughing once they saw the room was empty.

Ron turned to Seamus with a grin.

"Guess we got away with it this time, huh?"

"Not exactly."

Harry turned back around to ogle with amazement. Professor McGonagall was standing right there! Draco was choking in surprise and he absently patted him on the back. The blond managed to choke out, _"She was the cat!_" and Harry looked to see that the cat had, indeed, disappeared.

"Five points from Gryffindor for your tardiness. Now find a seat!"

The two shamefaced boys did so, the rest of their house glaring at them. Professor McGonagall looked around, her eyes narrowed.

"Transfiguration is serious magic. A wrong wave of your wand and you can cause damage beyond your ken. This first year at Hogwarts we will learn the practical basics and uses of transfiguration in your daily life, as well as its boundaries and limitations. We will solely focus on inanimate transformations, as living organisms take much more time, skill, and magical power. Now, before each chair is a single matchstick."

Harry looked down, and indeed, at some point matchsticks had appeared on their table. The professor continued, her eyes looking at each of them in turn, face serious.

"Today we will be working on changing this matchstick into a simple silver sewing needle. Can anyone tell me why this transformation is considered a basic one?"

Hermione's hand shot up beside him, waving urgently. A smile actually tugged at the corner of the stern woman's face as she gestured for Hermione to speak. Hermione cleared her throat and started to lecture, and Harry noticed giggles erupted behind him. His shoulders tightened in annoyance. People always made fun of people they knew were better than them.

"This spell, often referred as the match-to-needle spell, is a transfiguration spell that falls under the category of transformation, or changing the characteristics of an object. It is basic because it deals with mutating the molecules of two particular inanimates: silver, and wood. Both have also been crafted before, hence making them easier to transform than, say, a block of silver and a tree branch."

"Very good, Miss Granger. 10 Points to Gryffindor for an excellent answer."

Draco mumbled under his breath. Harry smiled at Hermione, who was looking down in bashful pride. McGonagall continued.

"Any spell of this type does not require an outright incantation, which is why they are named after the items involved. Instead, you must steadily focus on your object, while holding your wand pointed in its direction. This is about visualization!"

Her voice finished on an up note, as she pointed her wand at her desk; it immediately transformed into a pig. Harry was beyond impressed, eyes wide. He had seen a light flare from her wrist, not her chest as he had seen with Draco a few days ago when the blond had cast a spell. This must have to do with what they had been talking about earlier; over time, the location of a magical core mutates with use. He quickly refocused on McGonagall as she continued speaking.

"It also requires desire and will, and most of all, magical power. Your own magic must be stronger than the object being changed, which is part of the difficulty with transforming magically enchanted objects. Now. Begin!"

There was a pause, everyone looking at each other in confusion. The Hermione reached for her match eagerly, eyes excited. Draco and Blaise followed suit, point their wands and muttering 'needle!' under their breath. Harry eyed his match.

The next hour was spent in concentration, his wand held loosely in his left hand. He focused his sight inward, allowing his full vision to extend over the room in a way he had not tried since arriving. Immediately he squinted, the light almost overwhelming. He tried to tone it down, to focus on only the magic in the classroom. It was only a little better, the very walls and floor saturated with latent spent magic, a sea of lost intent. He saw the professor, a bright sun with smaller stars in both palms, her clothes lined with magic as well. Perhaps a cleaning spell. He felt a headache coming on, and turning towards Hermione just as she gave a shout of excitement. The tiniest tendril of magic had flown down her arm to her wand and sparked across, embuing the match with a slight magical hue. He shook his head, looked again to see that the match, while retaining its shape, was now varnished silver. He clapped Hermione on the shoulder, laughing with her, as the Professor came over and praised her work.

Draco grumbled again, and earned an elbow in the side. The blond merely rolled his eyes, before jabbing his wand at the match forcefully. This time, Harry watched. No magic responded from inside the boy, though perhaps it did flare a little. His answer gained, Harry looked down at his own match, then to his wand and the hand that grasped it. He closed his eyes, picturing the silver sewing needle, shining, sharp. He grasped the magic inside himself, much as he had done many times before while holding a sharpened dagger. Only this time, it was his wand he sent it to, a magical force that gladly grasped it, holding it, allowing it to become stronger, and with a final force of his will it spilled forth, merging with the match and changing it. He opened his eyes, looking down at a silver needle in front of him.

A gasp from beside him, Draco craning over to see it. The boy began to speak, but Harry shook his head, holding his finger to his lips for silence. Then he closed his eyes, once more looking towards the needle, but this time he tugged, grasped the light that still called him _Master,_ and pulled it back. The rune on his chest flared, _Ankh_ fulfilling its purpose as the spent light was reintegrated back into himself. He opened his eyes with a triumphant smile, to see the match once more before him. He ignored the odd looks he was getting from Draco, instead casually nudging the match a little farther away from him, leaning back to look again with his magical sight, the vision the two runes _Ayin_ had given him, to see magic as light.

He would practice this until he no longer had to consciously reach for the light, until it shone at his mere thought. But he would not let those who thought they owned him think there was anything different about him, anything special or odd. He had to blend in, as much as he could with his fame. He did not trust them with even the suspicion that he could be powerful, that he might be uncontrollable. They had to think they had him trapped here, unable and unwilling to escape. For if they did not, it would only make it that much harder in the future for him to find true freedom.

* * *

They left class with the stern reminder to practice, but "only in your House Common Room."

He figured it was only a matter of time before Hermione and him found themselves wandering the third floor on the right side. They had skipped a staircase over, and Harry had sent the smallest spark to it with a prayer, hoping to get the intended result. When they found themselves on the third floor, he smirked in triumph. Suddenly a loud voice hailed them from behind. He turned to see Draco stomping up to them, his face pale.

"You, _you! This is the third floor corridor! _What in Merlin's gracious name are you guys _thinking?"_

Harry shared a guilty look with Hermione, before grasping the blonde's wrist and pulling the boy along. He quickly spoke as they walked, his eyes scanning left and right.

"I don't have time to explain, Draco, okay? We got to hurry!"

"Hurry for _what?_"

Before he could reply Hermione interrupted him.

"Harry, _here!_ A door!"

He hurried up, Draco following behind looking in every direction. Hermione reached for the knob, before scowling. "It's locked."

Harry began to wrack his brain, wondering if he could perhaps kick it in, or maybe manipulate the light that was present in the door handle. Hermione solved the problem for him, reaching into her pocket to withdraw her wand. She then did a perfect swish-and-flick before pronouncing loudly.

_"Alohomora!"_

The door clicked, and they all crammed inside, squinting to see inside the room. Something huge blocked the light coming in from the windows, and for a second they stood, confused. Then all at once the large object began to move, standing on four legs, and light flooded in and they could see it, a huge monstrous dog, three heads snarling, one body beginning to lunge towards them. He was not sure who moved first or even how they got out, but all three of them suddenly stood on the other side of the door, once again locked, panting, Draco letting out a high-pitched whine and Hermione beginning to dissolve into hysterical giggles. And then Harry heard it, a noise down the corridor, a loud meow. The others heard it too, and suddenly they were running again, back to the stairs. Harry saw it beginning to move away and flung out his magic towards it, holding its rumbling gate still as they jumped on, hearing curses sound as they were moved back to the lower level. He was breathing harshly, Hermione and Draco both holding on to sides of him, and only then did he feel himself begin to laugh in sheer relief. Draco stared up at him in concerned shock, before he too laughed, Hermione once more giggling.

It was this sight that they presented when Ron Weasley, followed by three boys, turned the corner to meet them. They stopped laughing almost immediately as the sour faced boy looked them over. He glared the longest at Hermione, before turning away with a sneer. The good mood suddenly broken, Draco turned towards them with a glare.

"Now, tell me what on_ earth _is going on."

* * *

After dinner that night they agreed to meet in an empty classroom on the second floor, a good midway point between their respective common rooms. Draco sat with his arms crossed, frowning, as Hermione and Harry explained about the Gringotts break-in, vault 713, Hagrid, and the abandoned corridor. Afterwards, Draco merely shook his head.

"Only people raised by Muggles would get themselves into this kind of mess. Do you guys know what that thing was? It was a Cerberus! We could be floating in its belly right now!"

Hermione fidgeted, before speaking strongly.

"Well, it was guarding something! I saw a door underneath it! I bet something is hidden there!"

"And it's none of our business, is it? The Headmaster told us so at the beginning of term. If we get caught there snooping around, even if we got by that dog, what's to say we wouldn't get expelled? Think of the shame it would bring to our families!"

Draco said the last as if that was the worst fate he could ever imagine. Knowing the Malfoy reputation, it probably was. Harry sighed, drawing both their gaze. He absently tapped his finger against the wood of his desk, before quietly putting an end to their argument.

"Leave it. We had no plans to find whatever is being guarded. Curiosity just got away with us, I suppose. Alright?"

He got reluctant nods from the both of them. Hermione looked like she wanted to say more, but Draco stood, turning towards the door before pausing, motioning for Harry.

"Come on, we only got thirty minutes before curfew. If we still want to butcher Gryffindor in the house cup, we can't afford to lose any more points."

Harry nodded, rising and walking to leave with him. Hermione gave him a sad smile, before turning and walking alone up to her dorm. She hadn't said anything, but Harry had noticed she was becoming ostracized in her house, in part because she was friends with a Slytherin. He hated to see it happen, but was at a loss to prevent it.

As he walked back to his dorm he was silent, lost in thought.

* * *

After a day of doing essays in the library, it was a relief to finish. Hermione had insisted that they complete all their homework on Saturday, so that they would have the entire next day free. He had tried to put it off with excuses, but the girl was adamant. At some point, Blaise had wandered in and simply sat with them, not even waiting for an invitation. Hermione had politely greeted him by his last name, already having been coerced by Harry. Blaise had given her a cordial greeting back, before pulling out his own potions essay and getting down to work. When Draco joined them later, it was only natural to begin exchanging pointers and advice on the topics, especially the one Professor McGonagall had given, about the subcategories of switching spells.

It was a boring and dry subject, but Hermione was a wealth of information about it and pointed them towards several relevant books. By the time they finished their homework it was time for lunch. As they were gathering their stuff together, Harry lightly brought up an idea of his, mostly looking towards Hermione.

"I know we can't practice magic in the corridors. Obviously, its off-limits here as well. I was thinking, perhaps we could help each other, maybe in the classroom we found yesterday. Between our dormitories? Then we can share tips and such."

He had drifted off at the end uncertainty, but Hermione immediately agreed, relief shining in her eyes. He was proven right that she had been getting no help from her classmates. Draco grudgingly agreed, and Blaise shrugged. They agreed to meet after eating.

* * *

"As if you don't know already!"

Draco accused suddenly. Harry put down his wand, frowning at the blond. Blaise and Hermione both looked over curiously. They had been practicing transfiguration, specifically the match-to-needle conversion. Hermione had been coaching them as the only one in the class to get it right, and Harry had been asking a few questions when Draco burst out. Hermione frowned. Draco continued, looking towards the other two.

"I saw Harry get it right, in class the other day! Then he just, changed it back! We could have gotten house points for that."

The boy frowned. Harry tried to figure out what the problem was. Blaise spoke, his voice quiet and his gaze observant.

"Is this true? Have you practiced before?"

Harry tried to think about what to say, how to explain. How much should he say? Would answers only lead to more questions? He finally spoke.

"Yes, I did perform the spell. I did had some practice before, though, while I was waiting for term to begin."

"I thought you lived with Muggles."

Blaise spoke, his gaze speculative. When Harry nodded, his gaze narrowed.

"You cannot perform magic around Muggles, once you receive your wand. It's got a trace on it, to turn you in for breaking the Statute."

Harry paused, eyes wide, before Hermione broke in for him.

"Harry lived at Hogwarts, he told me. For the last month or so."

Harry nodded reluctantly, seeing both boys eyes light up with a groan. Now she had done it.

"Really? Why didn't you tell us?"

Draco gushed. Blaise leaned back in his chair, frowning. Harry waited for the obvious question, why, but it never came. He slowly responded to Draco, looking down.

"Yeah, for about a month I guess. After my birthday. I guess here, at Hogwarts, the trace doesn't matter."

But it was definitely something he would remember when going out into the Muggle world. That information could have just saved his skin from detection. Draco looked ready to ask more questions, but Hermione broke in.

"Well, Harry, show us. I mean, I never got the needle all the way. I'd like to see it done."

Harry nodded, grasping his wand in his left hand again. He had found that spells with no violent tendencies tended to flow better through Heth. Perhaps it was a more 'laid back' rune, he had thought with a grin. In any case, his left hand was beginning to be his hand of choice when it came to casting. He pointed at his match, once more grasping his magic and flinging it to Heth easily, before allowing it to filter out to his wand and be magnified towards the match. It changed instantaneously into a perfect sewing needle. Hermione reached for it, looking it over, before sitting it back down. She smiled, clapping.

"Well done!"

Harry grasped his magic back, pulling it into himself. He felt strangely reluctant to leave a speck anywhere. Blaise frowned, speaking.

"Why do that?"

Harry immediately replied, this time ready.

"Well, I need the match don't I? For class"

The boy's eyes narrowed again. He suspected something was up, and Harry wasn't going to let him find out just what was going on. He turned towards the others, watching as they too began to turn their match. Hermione was the best, but after the last hour both Draco and Blaise had developed a silver tint.

They spent another hour practicing before they called it a day, exhausted. At least, Harry noticed, the others looked it. He didn't feel the least bit tired, but he could see that bits and specks of magic floated through the air, failed concentration and will leaving them floating. The young wizards had had no way to take it back in and so it simply slowly faded away into nothing. Or perhaps not nothing, he thought to himself, watching as one small pinprick of light merged into the stone wall. It seemed Hogwarts herself had some use for all the magic filtering through her veins.

* * *

Draco and Harry reluctantly headed down to Hagrid's hut after dinner for detention. Neither had been looking forward to whatever they would be forced to do, Draco least of all. When they were nearly there, they saw Ron sitting with Hagrid, happily chatting. Harry felt a spark of jealousy and tamped it down. Just because the redhead was a horrible person to him, didn't mean he couldn't be nice with Hagrid. And Hagrid could be friends with whomever he liked.

At their approach, Hagrid stood up quickly, reaching behind him for a large crossbow. Draco gulped at the sight, and then almost shrieked when Fang came barreling out from behind the large man. Harry laughed and quickly stepped between them, firmly controlling the exuberant dog. Draco grumbled but he ignored it as Hagrid began to explain their detention.

"Well, now, this detention is going to be a bit odd for us all, I suppose. You see, for the last couple o' years we've been havin' a decrease in the population of unicorns in tha' Forest. I suspect we might have a poacher on our hands, but the centaurs refuse ta tell me 'bout it. Instead, they said that perhaps we should ask the unicorns themselves. Well, now, as unicorns only like tha' pure and innocent-like, you know what I mean, I was thinking, err, perhaps I should just grab a couple of students and trot them out into the Forest."

Harry exchanged wide glances with Draco in horror as the man continued.

"So anyway, I'm gonna split you guys into two groups, one together and one with fang, and I'll be followin' right behind ya, no worries!"

Ron squeaked as he quickly stepped forward to claim the fearsome looking Fang. Harry did not have the heart to tell him the large dog was a coward. Instead, he tried to give Draco an encouraging grin. The boy looked about ready to faint.

"Now, off ye trot! Let's go! Grab a lantern!"

They did so, separating by about fifty feet and then moving into the forest. Draco was trembling underneath his out-door cloak, mumbling under his breath about telling his father about the giant 'oaf' who came up with such a detention. Harry figured this was definitely a deterrent from further wrongdoing. They had been walking for about forty minutes, the sun now completely down, when the crack of a tree branch shot through the trees. They turned, startled, and Fang suddenly careened through the bushes, whimpering, with Ron hot on his tail with a shriek. It was all the convincing Draco needed, immediately turning tail and running. Harry was about to follow when he heard a thunderous huffing sound, followed by a whinnying scream, a frantic wordless plea for help. He turned back, running towards the noise, hoping Hagrid was not too far behind. When he entered a clearing, he saw it.

A unicorn lay on its side, a huge shadow looming over it, slurping and growling as it drank from a silver stream pouring from the beast's neck. Beside it, restrained in long looping vines, a silver foal screamed and cried, frantically kicking and twisting to get free as it saw its mother's soft glow dim. Harry suddenly saw the magic, a huge sun shining from the heart of the two animals, the larger one dying as its magic was drank through it's blood, into the heart of the monster. Harry found himself screaming, yelling, picking up a rock and hurtling it at the shadow.

Two glowing red eyes looked up as the last of the magic dimmed. It stood and he saw the likeness of a man, perhaps, two feet and hands. He felt afraid, so afraid, and realized then that that too was a cloak about the beings frame, a fearful rage and maelstrom of darkness. The thing began to walk towards him, its magic rising about it, and he could read clearly there its intent, to destroy, to gorge, to devour and utterly diminish. Harry held out his palm, trying to hold his ground, to not allow himself to run. Dread hissed in his mind again, a rising song of anger. He saw the serpent uncoiling from his magic, feathers spreading wide before it flung itself free, straight at the gleaming red eyes. The monster howled in pain as the Quetzalcoatl struck, and that was enough of a distraction for Harry to fling himself free of the dark magic holding him immobile, to jump forward and call out the word, the rune, his wand held tight in his left palm, glowing in the darkness with a deep golden light.

"_Heth!"_

The shield sprang into being, knocking the monster back, farther away from him and Dread flew back to him, hissing in glee as red blood decorated its mouth and fangs. Harry pumped more magic into his shield, the monster suddenly seeming to take flight into the sky, turning tail and fleeing. He panted, falling to his knees. He held the shield, uncertain if the thing would attempt to attack again. A soft whinny brought his eyes back to the clearing and away from the cloudy night sky. The foal was free of its bindings, gently nickering and nudging its dam's side. Harry felt its sorrow, saw its magic shining from within, a call and plea for help. He found himself stumbling forward to its side, once more kneeling on the ground beside it, running a hand over the fallen unicorns side. It was dead, its magic spent and stolen. Tears ran down his face as the small foal trumpeted its distress. He found himself reaching out with magic, trying to communicate with the hysterical child. That's what it was, to his magic, a child of light, a child of the moon who had lost its earthly mother. He sang to it with his magic, a soft crooning lullaby, unknowingly echoing Fawkes's own song.

_never-alone, never-alone._

The foal turned to him, its dark eyes wide. It slowly stepped into his arms, allowing him to wrap it into a hug as it kneeled beside its mother. A small nub of a horn graced its head, and Harry knelt over it, allowing his tears to fall onto the warm hair beneath his hands. A song, a loud trumpet brought his head up from where the foal had fallen to sleep. Fawkes was flying at the edge of his shield, singing softly and soothingly. Harry realized_ Heth_ was still in force, large, draping the whole clearing in its circle. He drew it back into himself, feeling lighter and regaining some of his energy. Fawkes flew close, landing with a light flutter. Dread suddenly hissed from where he was wrapped around his shoulders, and Fawkes merely sang again, something of his song coming through in words.

_safe-searchers-good-close._

Harry nodded, absently wiping the tears from his face before holding a hand out to Dread. The serpent ran its flickering tongue across his lips in satisfaction, before reluctantly lunging forward to pierce the skin on his wrist, allowing itself to once more enter Harrys magic through the blood traveling down its throat. Harry did not flinch, merely covered the wound with a tired sigh. Fawkes crooned again, winging slowly to take perch on his shoulder, looking down at the sleeping foal. A sudden drumming of hooves sounded before a large shape burst into the clearing, rearing at the sight presented to it.

It was a centaur, followed soon after by another one of its kind. The two stood there, staring at him. He figured he must make an odd sight, a small student sitting beside a dead unicorn, holding a foal, with a phoenix perched on his shoulder. One of the centaurs stepped forward, peering down at his arms before speaking.

"Mr. Potter. I am Firenze, one of the centaurs that claims this Forest as home. This is Bane."

He gestured to the other centaur, who only glared at him in suspicion.

"You have done a great thing here tonight, as we saw it done ages ago, written across the stars. You must go now, for your kind is looking for you at the forest edge. It is not safe to tarry."

Harry nodded, before looking at the small foal, reluctant to move her. He was suddenly nudged by Fawkes, who then took flight into the sky. Taking it as a sign, he slowly eased out from under the small creature. A sudden thump beside him alerted him to the fact that the other centaur, Bane, was kneeling beside him, gently picking up the unicorn and holding it in his arms. Harry stood, hand limp at his side. He looked around, before spotting his wand fallen on the ground where it had been left when he went to sit with the foal. He scooped it up, idly putting it in its place, before looking around. He no longer knew which way to go. Firenze then stood in front of him before kneeling, offering his back. Harry paused, uncertain, and Bane erupted into furious whispers behind him.

"Firenze! What are you, a common mule, to let a human ride your back?"

Firenze merely looked into Harry's eyes with a piercing blue gaze. He gestured again for Harry to slide on, before speaking calmly.

"Is this a common human, to be denied? Have you not heard the songs and read the stars? Has the sun not whispered to you through the midsummer breeze?"

Bane turned away, his sides shaking in repressed anger and humiliation. Harry easily slid onto the centaur's back, gingerly grasping his mane, afraid to hurt the being who had deigned to let him ride him. Firenze did not wait a second, bursting into gallop as he ran through the woods, easily dodging vine and branch. Harry leaned over, closing his eyes, almost worn out by the mental anxiety of seeing what he had seen, the doubts and questions flooding his mind as he searched desperately for answers. All he could remember was those glowing red eyes, so full of hate and malice and hunger, and something kept nagging at him, something that he was forgetting.

Then they were there, speeding up to Hagrid, who stood comforting Draco who was in a rage, as Ron looked on with a smirk. At the sight of them Hagrid balked in amazement and Draco called his name. "Harry!"

Harry tried to smile, sliding form Firenze's back. He then bowed to the centaur, offering his thanks. Firenze merely looked him over, before nodding his head. He then turned and tore off back into the forest. Harry accepted Draco's hug of relief, before looking at Hagrid.

"The unicorn was dead. Something was, was... eating it! Drinking its blood!"

Hagrid turned pale as Ron began to gag. Draco sucked in a deep breath of surprise.

"There is nothing more evil in this world than to taste the blood of a unicorn, Harry. It's powerful stuff, very magical, but it's the purest essence you will ever find. To end such a life, for such a vile and selfish purpose as to extend your own existence, for that would be its purpose... it is to live a cursed life, a half-life, one full of terror and desperation and nothing good at all."

Hagrid frowned forebodingly.

"I must tell tha' Headmaster at once. You three, come along now. You need ta get back to yer common rooms."

Ron nodded at once, before springing away towards the safety of the castle. Draco was only a length behind him, before he stopped when he saw Harry had stayed behind. He returned as Harry looked up at Hagrid, a question in his eyes.

"Why would someone want so desperately to live? Why would they go through that, that curse, like you said, just to live?"

Hagrid shook his head, his eyes kind. He rested a large hand on his shoulder.

"I know it must'a been hard, Harry, to see that. There is nothing worse than to watch such pure magic perish. We will find 'im, whatever he is. I promise."

Harry nodded and walked away, meeting Draco and continuing on. Inside, he brimmed with anger. Who was Hagrid to give him promises? Since when had anyone fulfilled a promise to him? What did he think he could do to catch such a monster, when it took first years to even get close to one? Harry frowned, ignoring Draco's querying look. If he wanted to stop that monster, he was going to have to do it himself. As his thoughts once more turned to the crying foal, he made a promise to himself. That monster _would _be stopped.

* * *

The next two months passed quickly. The days were filled with studying and homework, and more studying. They graduated to more complicated Transfiguration, while being tested on the various wand movements in Charms. Harry spent a lot of his free time in the library, pouring through any book he could get his hands on with a fervor matched only by Hermione. Many times Blaise and Draco left them in disgust, preferring to go watch the Quidditch matches. A few times even Zacharias Smith stopped by to study with them, though his nonchalant attitude drove Hermione stir crazy. She liked him less than she liked the Slytherins. It did not help that Smith apparently rivaled Hermione in the classes she had with Hufflepuff. She had complained more than once about how the boy had beaten her score in one essay or another, a fact that bothered her because the boy did not seem to even care.

Hermione did drag him off to watch the first Academia match, which was round-robin style with each year of each class required to answer questions better than their opponents. Harry thought it quite boring, but Hermione delighted in answering to herself before they competitors did. She was even answering third and fourth year questions, Harry saw with some amazement.

He had not told her the details of the detention they had had in the Forest, only that a unicorn had been killed. She had helped him do some research on the phenomenon, but did not understand why he was so concerned. "The professors will take care of it, you'll see." had been her response. Harry had only scowled and studied harder. He had been to see Hagrid twice more, and both times the large man admitted that no sign had been seen of the blood-drinker. He had looked up vampires, only to be turned away. Vampires it seemed did not like the blood of unicorns, as its pure magical signature burned their very veins. At least that was one less monster the being could be.

By the time Halloween rolled around, Harry was at a loss. He had researched as much as he could in the normal part of the library, and had no way to enter the Restricted Section. It was a dead end. He slammed his book down in anger, avoiding the scolding look from the librarian. He stood, leaving the book to be shelved as he left the library and headed towards the Great Hall. Halloween had fallen on a Friday, which meant they had a Charms class directly after breakfast. He met up with a sleepy Draco and sat with a huff. Blaise looked him over neutrally before spooning some porridge into a bowl.

"I see you were up early again, Harry. Any luck?"

Harry simply shook his head. All the boys in his dorm were now used to his early hours and late nights. Nott had made a few scathing remarks, but left him alone for the most part. Fawkes had only visited a few times, usually when Harry was at his worst, flaming in to comfort and sing to him. None of the boys dared to complain about the singing, and Draco had boldly declared Fawkes to be their new mascot, which was met with snickers. The blond hadn't retracted it though, and insisted the phoenix must have wanted to be a snake in another life. Fawkes had ruffled his feather with a squawk as Dread laughed inside his mind.

After breakfast they all moved up a few stairs, heading towards the Charms classroom. The room was full of excited whispers, as today was the day they would start actually casting charms.

Professor Flitwick tapped his wand against the podium, calling everyone's attention to the front.

"Ok, class! Today's the big day! Now, we all know our movements and the class one charms. Today will be _Wingardium Leviosa_, the floating charm, cast with a _Swish-and-Flick!_ Are we ready?"

The class echoed him with a "Yes!" and the Professor nearly toppled from his stack of books in delight. He gestured for everyone to begin, and the class was suddenly full of chanting and flicking wands. Harry watched quietly from next to Blaise, as the young wizards' magic again and again reached out, attempting to perform the charm. He noticed many got the appropriate flare, but the wand movement must have been off and the magic simply faded, or worse, exploded, as in the case of one misshaped Ravenclaw. Blaise was focused sternly on his feather in front of him, concentrating. Harry again watched, seeing the same thing happen to him. He leaned over slightly, whispering.

"It's your wand movement, I think. More flick and less swish."

Blaise gave him a quiet look, and then did as he advised. Suddenly his magic flared, meeting he wand, then swished out of the wand and flicked straight towards the feather, merging with it and lifting up into the air.

"Congratulations Mr. Zabini! First in the class, good, very good! Five points to Slytherin! Very good. Now, did you see how he moved his wand? Spot on!"

Zabini nodded coolly at the praise, before giving Harry an appreciative glance. He smiled back, before looking at his own feather. He had been practicing on his own, trying to discover the differences in his own magic compared to those around him. It was shaped different, and behaved differently. None of the wand movements he had tried so far worked well for him. His magic did not want to swish, did not want to flick or swirl or punch. It simply flowed, poured, like a stream of light. The incantations themselves were merely superfluous, causing his extreme difficulty in hiding his ability. He had to know the incantations and movements better than any of his peers merely to be able to fake the process that he did not need.

He pointed his wand at the feather, gathered himself, then intoned "_Wingardium Leviosa_" while swishing it up and then flicking towards the feather as if tossing an invisible marble. The feather floated, but only he saw that the magic was streaming in an continuous flow from his wand, a soft pulsing current. He lifted it a mere inch, before setting it down, unnoticed by all but Blaise sitting next to him. As he sat back with a small smile, Blaise leaned over, his voice cajoling.

"You know, Harry, the others might like you better if you did not hide your power so much."

He said nothing, his thoughts already in turmoil. None of the Slytherins liked him, though they seemed to tolerate him presence. Some of that was probably due to Draco, if anything, his family's reputation staving off the worse of the hazing that might have happened. Still, he was shunned from Slytherin get-togethers, and Nott had spread some nasty rumors about his pro-Muggle stance. He had not bothered to face them, did not care to flex his magical muscles merely to garner respect. The repercussions were too great, and he could not risk it getting back to the teachers and ultimately, the Headmaster. Blaise spoke again when he did not get a response.

"Harry, they would respect you, would acknowledge that you belong in Slytherin. With what I've seen you do, they would worship you!"

At hat, Harry finally turned to him, his green eyes locked on Blaise. The dark-skinned boy shifted, uncomfortable, as Harry spoke.

"What is more Slytherin, Blaise, to trumpet my abilities now, while I am untrained, or to wait in the shadows until I am sure of where I stand?"

Blaise looked down, before whispering back.

"Harry, you could at least show a little…."

"A little what? Knock down a few scoffers, ruffle some feathers? Then what, garner the political scrutiny of people I do not yet have the ability to combat? I am merely a minor, a ward of the school. I have no real power, not yet."

Blaise nodded, reluctantly. Finally, he looked up with a small smile.

"Well, Harry, I look forward to their faces when you finally decide to show what you can really do."

He smiled back, before looking around the class. A few more had gotten the hang of the charm. As he watched, he idly whispered back to Blaise.

"I look forward to it too."

* * *

After Transfiguration that afternoon, Harry waited a good half-hour for Hermione in the library before he finally stood up with a frown. He first checked what they considered 'their' classroom, and then absently wandered back to the library, hoping perhaps she had been running late. They had specifically planned to meet that afternoon to knock out their potions essay before the Feast. They both had decided to spend Saturday outside with Hagrid and his newest beast, a grey-feathered Augury. Hagrid had been trying to cheer up the morose beast to no avail earlier and had sent them a teary note for help.

Harry sighed, turning a corner, only to run into a snickering group of Gryffindors. Ron Weasley was at the helm, and when the redhead spotted him, his mocking laugh turned into a mischievous smile.

"Hello, Potter. Looking for your pet lion?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, voice hard when he spoke, "What have you done, Weasley?"

Ron smiled with a glint in his eyes as he calmly responded, the boys behind him giggling.

"Oh, nothing the little no-it-all didn't deserve!" The Gryffindor laughed again and brushed past him roughly.

Harry stumbled, clenching his fists, as he watched them go. They must have been referring to Hermione. What had those boys done to her?

A throat clearing brought his attention around. Neville Longbottom stood there, absently ringing his hands as he spoke.

"Hey, Harry."

Neville paused, his eyes shifting nervously, before continuing.

"Hermione had always been nice to me, and I hate how the others treat her, just because she's friends with you, and you're, you know, a Slytherin. Why, he told me just the other day that there wasn't a wizard that's gone bad that wasn't in Slytherin."

Harry internally groaned at the rambling, before biting out, "Get to the point, Longbottom."

Neville stood straighter, his hands falling to his sides.

"Call me Neville, please. This is what happened, alright? Hermione, she was trying to help Ron with his charms last period, you know, we have it with the Hufflepuffs right after lunch. And, well, Ron couldn't get it and Hermione did and won points, and Ron got really mad. Then Ron and Seamus and Dean were all picking on her after class in the hallway, calling her names and saying it was no wonder she could only be friends with evil snakes, she was such a know-it-all. And that she must really belong in the nest of snakes then in the lion's den, and that they hoped she would just leave and never come back, that she didn't belong here. Their words, not mine, of course."

Neville quickly said at seeing Harry's furious eyes. He quickly continued at Harry's impatient gesture.

"Well, Hermione got really upset, I think, well, I think she was crying. And then she ran off."

"You didn't see where?"

Neville shook his head morosely. Harry ground his teeth. He met the plump boy's eyes, his own flaring with angry magic.

"Thank you, Neville. I'll remember your help."

He brushed past before the boy could say more, heading angrily towards the Gryffindor Common Room.

* * *

He spent the rest of the study period looking for Hermione, making sure she wasn't in her common room or dormitory, the library, or the classrooms between the charms classroom and their various haunts. When Draco came and grabbed him he allowed himself to go to the feast, hoping that perhaps his friend had beaten them there. When he looked toward their table, however, Hermione was missing. He growled under his breath, sitting with an angry huff at the table. Blaise began to question before Draco quickly shook his head. Harry began to eat when the food appeared, his mind racing about where Hermione could be hiding. He was so deep in his thoughts he almost did not notice Professor Quirrell enter from a side door, walking calmly towards Dumbledore seated at the Staff Table. He absently looked up, watching the man's stately walk across the dais. His suspicions about the man had only grown- he could not go a class period without a headache, however faint. He knew the man was testing his mind, for reasons unknown, but he wasn't sure how to confront him, or even if he could. He was also reluctant to confide in another professor, afraid this was all just another scheme of the Headmaster's, sending a pawn to test him when he thought he was safe.

Quirrell bent down to whisper in the Headmaster's ear. All of the professors within earshot paled, and perhaps that was as far as it would have gotten if Hagrid, already deep in his special pumpkin spice wine, hadn't yelled Quirrell's words.

_"TROLL_? In the _DUNGEONS!?_"

There was a moment of shocked silence before mayhem broke out, students yelling in panic. Dumbledore stood, sending a bang out of his wand to silence the Hall.

"Silence! Everyone!"

The students slowly sat, their panicked energy barely contained. The Headmaster continued, looking about sternly.

"Prefects, you will escort your students to their dormitories, with the exception of Slytherin, which will stay here under the direction of professors Sinistra and Kettleburn. Now, calmly, please."

The mass exodus began, and Harry took advantage of the mayhem to slip through the stream of students, working his way over to an Indian girl Harry had seen Hermione with occasionally. He quickly got her attention, grabbing her arm and speaking.

"Hi, um. Do you know where Hermione is?"

The girl looked him over in a mix of amazement and annoyance. She pulled her arm free, before speaking with narrowed eyes.

"Last I saw, she was crying her eyes out in the girls bathroom, by the entrance to the dungeons."

As if suddenly realizing what she said, the girl paled, her eyes widening. "Hermione…"

Harry grimaced, turning away from her to allow himself to be carried in the crowd of students out the Great Hall doors. He thought he might have heard his name, but ignored it, slipping from the crowd behind a corridor and hurrying towards the dungeons, beginning to run when he passed another hallway and heard stomping ahead of him. A sudden shadow passed in front of him, and he jumped behind a statue, peeking out to see a large form stomp past, sniffing the air in confusion as it swung its head from side to side. He watched, holding his breath, spotting the set of bathrooms right ahead of the troll. It almost passed them by, before it suddenly came to a halt, taking great shaking breaths. The troll then turned towards the girl's bathroom, and Harry's heart plummeted.

He cursed to himself, jumping out and running toward the open door, when a loud crash and scream echoed from within.

He rushed into the bathroom, looking around with wide eyes. The stalls had been crushed with two swipes of a massive wooden club, pieces of debris everywhere. Even as he watched Hermione dodged underneath a row of porcelain sinks, only for the troll to drops its club, missing her by mere inches. She screamed again, falling and rolling to the side, and her arm hung at an unnatural angle. He yelled, trying to get the troll's attention. He desperately picked up a small piece of the bathroom stall that had fallen nearby and threw it, slapping the troll on the side of its thick skull. The small hit was enough to get the troll's attention, and it turned towards Harry, confused. He felt a short moment of relief that it had stopped pursuing Hermione before he slid backwards into the wall, the troll advancing towards him with fury in its narrowed eyes. Hermione quickly used the distraction to whip out her wand, yelling out the charm they had learned that very morning.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!"_

The troll's club rose in the air, and the troll flailed wildly after it. Hermione flicked her wand, sending the club careening towards the opposite stall. The troll began to turn, and Harry gestured frantically for Hermione to come to him, hoping they could leave the bathroom and make a run for it. Hermione stood, took two steps, and fell to the ground, tripping over a large portion of the sink, water gushing about the floor. She screamed again as her injured arm crashed into the porcelain, and the troll turned furiously, its eyes narrowed on her fallen form. It stomped toward her, raising its fist, and Harry ran towards them in desperation, swearing.

Then the troll's fist fell towards his friend, and Harry knew there was no time, no time at all, and he jumped forward, desperate, arms wide and grasping, pulling Hermione in close, covering her body with his own. For a split second his eyes met her own, wide and terrified, and then the troll's fist met his outstretched wings, spread wide and suddenly, even as he was pressed down with the force of the Troll's attack, its fist began to shred into shrivels of noxious flesh and green oozing blood, Harry's feathers covered with the stench. He pushed her face into his chest, covering her eyes, tilting his head back to see the Troll stumbling backwards. A hoarse scream of agony echoed off of the tiles, a groaning rumble as its ruined stump of an arm waved feebly. It fell onto its rump, staring blankly as the blood ran freely, and Harry felt his magic surge through him, so powerful, and he stood, letting Hermione go, stalking towards the Troll with barely contained rage, so angry that it had come so close to destroying his first true friend at Hogwarts, so close to ruining what he had managed to build. His wings flexed, blood and flesh sloughing off of his glistening feathers as he strode forward, and Dread began a hissing chorus of _"rend-the-flesh, tear it, sink fangs-into-bone, kill, strike-the-softest-place!"_ and Harry was going to, he was going to kill it, _he was_, he was going to cleanse this place of goodness and light of its filth; and then he heard a whimper from behind, a soft plea through the darkness.

"_Harry, no."_

He stopped, torn, magic swirling in a stormy cloud about him, its own wings wide and spread, larger than ever, an echo of steel.

As he paused, the troll fell to the ground with a whimper. Its blood covered the tiles and it's eyes dimmed in unconsciousness as Harry forced himself to turn away. He made himself meet Hermione's eyes. She was lying on her side, broken arm cradled against her chest, eyes frightened. He wanted to go to her, comfort her. Footsteps echoed from the hallway, and he whirled, lost, out of his depth. Hermione spoke from behind him, her voice fragile but firm.

"Put them away, Harry! _Now!"_

He did so instinctively, drawing his wings inside himself in one practiced move, not allowing himself to think of the ramifications to himself, to Hermione, who now knew, and yet was helping him hide. Then the teachers arrived, McGonagall first, pausing, hand held to her chest as she beheld the carnage. Snape was behind her, his face drawn and pale. Last came Quirrell, the man's dark eyes meeting Harry's with direct accusing force.

"What in Merlin's name happened here?!" McGonagall was the first professor to speak, staring at the mess with a mixture of surprise and disgust.

The bathroom was completely demolished, stalls broken and crushed, the sinks spurting water onto the floor. Harry staled, uncertain, shifting from foot to foot, wondering how he could possibly explain, and once more Hermione spoke, her voice shaking, but collected.

"It was my fault, Professors. I thought I could take on the troll myself, you see, with the new spells I've learned. Harry was worried and came to find me. The troll broke my arm, and Harry got really angry. I think we must have done some accidental magic together, or something, because the troll's fist just exploded! Just like that! And, and then it collapsed over there!"

Hermione voice rose to a hysterical note, and Harry found himself going back to her, kneeling down, rubbing her back soothingly. She hugged him frantically, arm cradled between them and the other arm digging into his flesh. He gulped, and then nodded along with the performance.

"Um, Yes, accidental magic, it must have been. I was really worried."

_I thought she was going to die._ Harry felt tears prickling at the mere thought, the adrenaline finally beginning to abate into mental exhaustion. McGonagall must have seen it on his face, because she pursed her lips together and nodded, before gesturing to Snape.

"Severus, take them to the Infirmary. Quirinus and I will... clean up this mess."

"Certainly." Professor Quirrell agreed, his eyes never leaving Harry.

Harry strove not to shiver, not liking that look, or how the man's eyes followed him and judged, always searching, seeking weakness.

Professor Snape grimaced and began to lead the way, escorting them up and away from the mess of a bathroom. The man limped, strangely enough, as if he too had experienced a recent injury. Harry tried to keep his back away from the others, knowing the tears in the fabric could cause questions.

As Hermione entered the Hospital Wing and began to answer questions, Snape caught his elbow and held him still, looking into his eyes.

"I know you are not telling us everything, Mr. Potter. _Secrets are dangerous in the Magical World."_

His voice hissed out, voice low and rumbling in his chest. Harry was so tired, his magic fighting to be let loose, that he hissed right back, eyes glowing with the magical pull.

"_All the more reason to keep them, Professor." _And he looked down at the mangled leg peaking out from under the man's robe. The professor whipped his robe around to cover it, sneering. Then he turned and stalked away, limp no longer present. Harry grinned maliciously, then went inside, pulling off his stinking outer robe and carrying it towards Madame Pomfrey and Hermione.

As the mediwizard began to gather potions, Harry saw Headmaster Dumbledore entering the room, slow and stately, eyes twinkling. Behind him McGonagall walked, hands clasped together. She was smiling too, an odd sight if he had ever seen one. Harry sat straighter on the bed next to Hermione, nervous.

McGonagall walked over first, before speaking calmly.

"It was a brave thing you did, Harry. Worth of my house, if I dare say. Ten points to Slytherin for your courage and loyalty. Now, Ms. Granger."

She looked sternly at Hermione, who sunk into her bed.

"It was very foolish to attempt to take on a full-grown mountain troll by yourself, especially as a first year! You are lucky Mr. Potter here followed you, we saw him slipping out of the Hall and followed."

Harry frowned internally, realizing that they were still keeping tabs on him. He had been beginning to think that perhaps the surveillance had loosened, but this was just another reminder that the wizards no more trusted him than he trusted them. He began to scowl, but remembered to smooth out his face as Professor McGonagall continued.

"Five points from Gryffindor, as a reminder to think before you act."

Hermione nodded sadly, her eyes downcast. Professor McGonagall smiled one last time, patted her knee, then turned and left the Infirmary. The Headmaster stood to follow, pausing to leave them with a parting comment.

"I'm disappointed in you two, for putting yourselves in danger. Accidental magic is nothing to ever rely on, it is unpredictable and unstable. Next time, please, allow the professors to take control of the situation."

Hermione nodded, not able to meet the disappointed eyes of the Headmaster. Harry met his blue eyes straight on, unflinching. He refused to look away and act ashamed of doing what he thought was right. The headmaster did not smile as he stood and walked away.

Harry turned back to Hermione, still sitting on the bed looking down. Harry reached out, lifting her chin up firmly. He met her teary eyes with his own, keeping her gaze on his.

"Hermione. Listen, before the nurse comes back, okay?"

She nodded slowly, her mouth opening as if to speak before it closed. Harry gathered his courage before he began.

"What you saw back there….. it's… it's a long story, okay? I can't tell you about it right now, but I will, okay? Once we have more time to sit down without… the threat of listening ears. Will you be… okay with that? With waiting, with… keeping it secret?"

Hermione nodded right away, firmly, quickly reassuring him.

"Of course, Harry! I mean, I don't understand it, but I'm sure it has to deal with…well, with some of the odd things I've noticed."

Harry nodded, relief washing over him. As Hermione gave a shy smile and looked away, he nudged her, bringing her gaze back up. He felt his anger rising once more as he spoke again.

"Look, I heard that idiot Weasley said some things to you."

Hermione began to speak, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand.

"Quiet. He has no right to speak to you that way. He is jealous, and ignorant, and petty. He has no idea how hard it is for a Muggleborn to fit in. He is prejudiced against a group of kids who have done nothing to earn that stereotype but be sorted by a magical hat that looks for cunning and ambition. I want you to come to me next time he hurts you, even if it's a simple insult, and I will handle it. Alright? Enough is enough."

Hermione shook her head, eyes pleading. She spoke fervently, looking into his angry eyes.

"Look, Harry, it wasn't that bad, I swear. I just…. It just got to me, all of a sudden. Okay?"

Harry frowned, unappeased.

"Hermione, he is trying to hurt me through you, because you are my friend. And when he hurts you, he hurts me, you understand? And I'm tired of it. He needs to learn some respect."

Hermione sighed, looking down. At that moment Madam Pomfrey bustled back in, a tray in her hands with assorted food. She set it down in Hermione's lap before waving her wand, running various scans. Hermione sighed and settled into her meal, eating fast. The Mediwizard finally sat back and stood, her face kind.

"There you go, Ms. Granger, good as new! A broken arm is nothing serious really, and it doesn't seem you've expended much magical energy at all; I was expecting something much more drastic when they described the situation you two were in."

Harry frowned, speaking before he thought about it.

"Why? It was just the troll's arm."

Madam Pomfrey turned to him, her eyes kind but searching. Hermione looked like she was really wishing he wouldn't have brought that up.

"Well, dear, its a troll we are talking about. Their skin is much like a Giant's, or a transformed werewolf. It takes a much stronger spell to even pierce their skin and affect them at all, and even then, it takes multiple spells normally to equal a spell on a normal individual. That you two did so, and to such an extent, causing permanent damage… well. Quite impressive. Now, off you two get! It's just past curfew."

Harry nodded, trying to keep his face blank as he mentally kicked himself. He had not even thought to act tired as Hermione was obviously doing. He wasn't thinking! He stood slowly, feigning exhaustion, though he had a feeling it was far too late for that act. As the woman walked back to her office with a farewell, Harry began to escort Hermione back to her dorm. As they walked through the halls, Harry quickly muttered an apology.

"Sorry. I don't know why I didn't think of that sooner, with what you said and all."

Hermione shrugged, before stopping as they reached the entrance to her dormitory. She paused for a second, and then gave him a quick hug before turning and entering through her portrait. Harry smiled, his heart warm. She reminded him in some ways of Tiny, shy and yet intelligent. He could kill those boys for causing even the slightest tears in her eyes. As he walked back to his own common room, he thought hard about revenge. It wasn't enough that they had caused her to miss the feast, crying. But they had put her very life in danger. If he hadn't gotten there in the nick of time…. He shook his head furiously. He needed to think of way to keep track of his friends, so that this would never happen again.

* * *

Voldemort stood behind the desk in his bedroom, staring out of Quirinus Quirrell's brown eyes down at a complex diagram on his desk. His plan to distract the other professors had failed, even with sending the troll upwards towards the school to intercept any resistance. He had not expected that traitorous Snape to head him off directly at the corridor. He had made up some excuse about looking for a breach since the troll had escaped, and Snape had replied he had been doing the same, with some pretty suspicious glances. Just where did that man's loyalty lie?

Then again, the Dark Lord thought, slowly running his fingers over one particular page, he doubted Snape knew who was truly after the stone. The dark-haired man had always been loyal to the Dark Lord, but it was not in his best interest to reveal himself just yet. He still had plenty of time to find a way past the dog and to the stone.

No, what consumed his mind was the mysterious magic the_ boy_ had held against him. His memories as a spirit are rough and fractured, with no real sense of time and space. But he remembers, clearly, the moment he was ripped free from his roots and flung out into the night sky, looking back to see two vivid emerald eyes glowing in the darkness. The same two eyes that stared at him in determination just a few weeks ago, and the same face that had lied, badly, about the troll's defeat. His spirit, lost and wandering, had found itself drawn to a larger piece of itself that was plotting and scheming in a far off country, and had been gladly consumed to make itself more powerful. It was that added boost that had allowed himself to completely possess an exploring Professor Quirrell while out looking for a signs of a renegade Vampire Coven. He had been so excited he had proceeded to slay all the man's companions in a wash of bloody glory, reveling in the fear and terror he created. It had been a simple matter to pin the carnage on a vampire attack, and he himself had led the clean-out party, gladly wiping out the roost of blood-sucking fiends.

And that had given him the idea, when this body started to weaken, of how he could prolong its life. When the invitation to teach at Hogwarts came, he took it as a sign that things were beginning to finally come together again, and his careful attacks on the unicorns began. He had searched endlessly for another way to restore himself, forced to throw out other rituals that were less useful or harder to perform. Finally, he had seen one that looked, if anything, perfect. He had attempted, and almost been successful, to take the stone from the creator himself. However, he was thwarted, and the stone was moved to Gringotts. It took almost a year to plan the break-in, only to find, once more, that the stone had been moved.

And now it was here, almost within his grasp, if not for one ignorant, bumbling fool and his pet dog.

He sat with a small frown, before leaning forward to once more read the diagram in front of him. He was almost done with the book; one he hoped would answer the mystery of the boy's ability to thwart him. At least, answer it enough to get rid of that particular problem, once and for all. His frown turned into a smile that spoke of nothing nice to come as he read the title written in gold upon the blood-red leather hide.

"_The Wizards of Blood and Bone."_

* * *

_~To Be Continued: Winter Break, Investigations, and The Stone~_

_~*~Review Please! ~*~_


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